re ;> ; 






SKETCHES 



O F 



MAETHA'S VINEYARD 



AND 



OTHER REMINISCENCES 



O F 



TRAVEL AT HOME, 







ETC. 




• 




18G7 _J 






'^y of WasWvt^^ 


X.O^ 


B y A N 


INEXPERIENCED CLERGYMAN. 




"^'-^ 




Cl'NL 








BOSTON, 


PUBLISHED 


BY JAMES MUNROE & 


C 0. 






1838 . 





Euteretl according to act of Con£;ress in the rcai ISoS, 

By James Munroe & Co., 

In the Ckik'5 Office of the DiUrict Court of Massachusetts 



PRESS OF GEO. H. BROWN, 

East Bridgewater, Masa. 









PREFACE. 



In offering the present volume to the public the writer has 
been much influenced by the favorable judgment of individuals, 
for wliom he has the highest respect, upon those portions which 
appeared in the Christian Register in 1836 — 7, He has been 
told they were worthy of being issued in a collected form 
IMay it prove so. They have been revised with considerable 
care, and many alterations and additions made. The original 
form of 'Letters' in the Sketch of the Vineyard it was thought 
best to preserve. A good deal of the present volume, beside 
the Memoirs at the close, has not before seen the light, but he 
trusts that what has been annexed will not be unacceptable to 
his readers. lie has aimed at candor and truth in the narration 
of facts and the description of scenes. 

The writer does not profess to be a great traveller ever athome, 
and what he has written has been thrown off hastily in the in- 
tervals of professional labour. His object has been to add 
something to the enjoyment, if not the improvement of his rea- 
ders, and, to accomplish this end, he iiasbeen willing to expose 
himself to the charge of an itch for authorship. To those who 
have been over the same route?, it may be pleasing to have 
their recollections revived. To those who have not, the fol- 
lowing pages may serve, al least, as hints and directions. 

SAMUEL ADAMS DEVENS. 



CONTENTS. 



MARTHA'S VINEYARD. 
Letter I, _ - - - - Page 1 

Discovery by Gosnold. Original name. The Plain. South 
Shore. A Sportsman. A siorht worth seeing. Clifls at 
Gayhead. Mrs. Remember Skiffe. 

Letter II, - - - _ - - 8 

Attached to Massachusetts. Routes to the Vineyard. Domes- 
tic Animals. Enterprize of the Inhabitants. Saturday Bap- 
tists. Houses, etc. of the Inhabitants. Character of tho in- 
habitants. 

Letter HI, -- ----- -14 

Nervous Peculiarities — Religious Excitement. An Incident. 
Climate — Breakwater — Climate — Longevity — Habits — 
Modem Degeneracy. 

Letter IV, - - - - - - - -21 

A Patriarch. A View, The Finny Tribe. A Rare Pond. 
Best Walking in Bad Weather. 

Letter V, --------27 

The Indians. 

Letter VI, -i- ,•.- 33 

The Indians. The Clergy. 

Letter VII, 38 

The Oldest Church. The Church- Yard and Pastor'g Grave. 



VI CONTENTS. 

The sanctity of the Place. Fourth of July at Edgartown — 
The Poem. Ugly Tenants. A Tartar. Hard catching 
one. 

Letter Vlll, ------- 51 

Rev. Joseph Thaxter. Chaplain's Commission. Extracts from 
his Sermons. His Industry. Simplicity of Life. Dr. 
Beecher. Anecdotes. Benevolence and Success as a 
Preacher. Prayer at Consecration of Bunker-Hill Monu - 
ment. — Liberal Christianity. 

DOWN EAST. 

Chapter I, _------ 63 

Gardiner. Hallowell. Augusta. Bangor, its climate — 
character of the Inhabitants. A sermon long enough in all 
conscience. Religious Meetings. Eastvvrard in a Packet. 
An uncomfortable night. Gloucester — its beauty seen from 
the Bay. Adventure on an Island. Great Disappointment. 
A brace of ruffians. Stone Church at Sea. Hard Luck. 

Chapter II, ------ - 77 

Penobscot Bey. The old and trusty Pilot. Castine Light. 
Cystine — its Sabbath stillness — Climate — Churches. Forts. 
Count of Castine. The Fort par excellence. View from the 
Rampart. View from the Islands and the Heights of Brook- 
viile. Inhabitants ofC*. — Character and Occupation. — 
Things never to be forgotten. 

SOUTHWARD. 

Chaptkr I, -- -----86 

Hartford — Asylum for the Deaf and Dumb. New-York — 

Jewish Sabbath — Peale's Museum — Hydro-Oxygen IMi- 

croscope. Hoboken. Philadelphia — Pratt's Garden, etc. 

Baltimore — a noble Forest — Catholic Cathedral — an ardent 

Catholic. Hotels. 

Chapter II, ------- 96 

Indications of Slavery. W^ashington — Capitol and President's 
House. Mt. Vernon — the way to it. The old Negro ser- 



CONTENTS. VII 

vant. The new and the old Tomb. The Mansion — its 
Apartments, etc, Curiosties. The view from the Piazza. 
Tlie Garden and Greenhouse. Our departure. 

Chapter III, --____- 105 
Return to the city. President's House — Appurtenances and 
Decorations — View from the Vestibule. State DeiJart .1 cnt 
— Curiosities. Patent Rooms. Capitol — Rotundo — Li- 
brary — Representatives' Chamber — Senate Chamber — 
Crypet — View from the Dome. 

Chapter IV, ---'-__-ii2 

Fredericksburg. The C /achman a slave-holder. Conversation 
on Slavery. Richmond — Character of the Inhabitants. 
Thoughts and feelings. Shockoe Hill. Monumental Church. 
Promenade on the Banks of James River. April in Virginia. 
Jewish Family. Wrecks on the Chesapeake. 

DOWN EAST AGAIN. 

Ellsworth — Character of the Inhabitants. Religious Condi- 
tion. Our place of worship. Progress. Lyceum. Odd 
Events, -_--*_-_ 121 

DEATH without WARNING, - - - - 1.31 

NORTH RIVER. 

"W'est Point. Hyde Park. Catskill .Alountains. Alligators, so 
called. Athens. Hudson. Kinderhook. Albany. Sara- 
toga Springs. Over the ^fountains Home. - - 138 

Wi:STWARD. 

Meadville. An r.dventnre in the Wilderness. A log Cabin. 
An honest Dutchman. Bats in the attic. A way to get along. 
IMy sleeping room. Novel breakfast. A stage load. Dis- 
tinguished honor. Dutch wisdom, curiosity and persever- 
ance. An awkward sow. The moral of the Tale. Pitts- 
burg. Alleghany IMountains. Tornado. Bedford Springs. 
Fredericktown. - - - - - 144 



VIII CONTENTS. 

NEWPORT, 166 

POVERTY NOT MISERY, - - - - 158 

ASCENT OF THE MONADNOCK. 

To err is human, 'Hope deferred,' etc. Misfortunes never 
come single. Genuine benevolence, _ _ _ 160 

CURIOUS EPITAPH, - - - - 164 

MONADNOCK ONCE MORE. 

Simplicity and cupidity. A little scandal. - - 165 

PASSAGE OF THE SACO, - - - - 167 

PLEASANT MODE OF JOURNEYING. 

A sublime scene. A trial. Rutland, - - 169 

WHITE HILLS. 

Mt. Clinton. Tornado. WinnipiseogeeLake. Red Mountain. 
Old Man of the Mountain. Not so easy to meet death as one 
thinks for, 172 

MEMOIR of Rev. Henry Augustus Walker, - - 177 
MEMOIR of Rev. Zabdiel Adams, - - - 190 



SKETCHES OF TRAVEL. 



LETTER I. 

Martha's Vineyard, IS^^. 

To the Editor of the Christian Register: — 

Having recently passed some little time on the 
Vineyard, perhaps a general description of the is- 
land — of the state of society and religion in its 
principal town, its metropolis as it were, may not 
be unacceptable to your readers. I hope not to 
trespass upon more interesting and useful matter 
that should find place in your paper. 

The Island of Martha's Vineyard was discovered 
as early as 1602, by Gosnold. Thomas Mayhew 
of Watertown obtained a grant of it in 1642. Soon 
after he removed to the island he was appointed its 
Governor. Previous, however, to his arrival sev- 
eral English families resided here, for a church was 
gathered as early as 1641, of which his son was 
pastor. The original name of the Island is sup- 
posed by Dr. Belknap to be Martin's Vineyard, 
from Martin Pring, who visited it about a year after 
it was discovered, and spent some weeks gathering 



"Z THE PLAIN. 

sassafras. A fanciful and amusing origin of the 
names of the various islands in this region is handed 
down from father to son, viz: — that three sisters who 
rame over from England — Eizabeth, Martha, and 
Ann had the choice of them, and Elizabeth prefer- 
red that cluster which is known by her name — Mar- 
tha, the Vineyard — and Ann took it^ (Nantucket) 
the only one left. 

The Vineyard is nineteen miles long and upon an 
average five miles broad. It is generally level, 
though in the northern and western parts the land 
rises into hills of two hundred and fifty feet above 
the adjacent country. This range of hills is denom- 
inated the back-bone of the island. There is a plain 
in the southern part, upon which Edgartown is sit- 
uated, eight miles in length and five or six in breadth. 
Various roads intersect it, running in all directions ; 
but the beauty of the plain consists in this, that on 
horseback, or with any vehicle, you may strike from 
the beaten track and make a course for yourself 
v.herever you please upon a firm foundation of 
smooth, closely-matted grass-ground. On this plain 
it is a delightful ride of three miles from Edgartown 
to the South Shore where the full swell of the sea 
comes in with its mountain-waves. Indeed, when 
the wind has subsided after a storm, and the sun 
pours his glory upon the outspread ocean and peace- 
ful land, if there is sublimity anywhere, it is here, 
where the white-crested billows, curling in tripple 
lines on either side of you as far as the eye can 



SOUTH SHORE. 3 

reach, and bounding on with inexpressible majesty 
and loveliness fling; themselves with furious energy 
and deafening roar at your feet, and chase you from 
your thoughtless and irreverent intrusion upon their 
sacred domain. Often have I visited it on foot and 
horse, (here the high-mettled speechless animal, the 
better for being such, is the best company, seems 
to comprehend and participate your emotions, and 
relieves that feeling of extreme solitariness which 
comes over the soul) sometimes with friends — gen- 
erally alone — and never without an awful sense oi 
the grandeur of God's works, felt nowhere else. — 
The soul cannot but inwardly breathe that highly 
expressive and noble passage of Scripture, ' Great 
and marvellous are thy works, Lord God Almighty. 
There is that in the spectacle which oppresses one 
with a sense of utter powerlessness and insignificance. 
When witnessed for the first time by a person of sen- 
sibility, to speak or move is out of the question. 
It was told to me at Nantucket some two or three 
years since, where the sea breaks in a similar man- 
ner, that the Falls of Niagara generally disappoint 
those who have seen the surf under the most favora- 
l)le circumstances. For myself, expecting much in 
the former case and little in the latter I must con- 
fess that sublimer emotions were awakened in my 
bosom upon the desolate, storm-beaten shores oi 
Nantucket and the Vineyard, than upon the Terra- 
pin or Table-rocks. The falls, however, notwiih- 
<!tanding the disappointment to which we are liable 



A SPORTSMAN 



ill consequence of high-wrought expectation, must 
ever remain the unsurpassed wonder of the world. 
The beach is continually changing. One day you 
will see it a smooth and gentle slope to the water's 
edge ; the next thrown up into a perpendicular bank 
several feet in height. Within a century one half a 
mile of the shore has been carried away. The noise 
of the surf is heard for miles, and in Edgartown it so 
fills, literally ^1^/5 the air at times that you may easi- 
ly imagine the waters of the great deep have burst 
their barriers, and are approaching the town to over- 
whelm it in their terrible wrath. Along the shore 
is a great variety of sea-fowl. The inhabitants of 
the town not infrequently resort thither to kill a mess 
for their families. One afternoon I ventured to the 
the beach with my travelling companion to whom I 
became quite attached, when the wind blew enough 
to take one's whiskers off and the ocean was lashed 
into more than ordinary rage. I perceived at a dis- 
tance a somewhat tall personage, equipped with 
arms. Not doubting his vocation I advanced tow- 
ard him. He stood upon the margin of an elevated 
bank, against which every wave beat with fearful vi* 
olence. Suddenly he disappeared. Whether the 
earth or sea had swallowed him was to me a matter 
of uncertainty. As I drew near he rose. I found 
him standing in a circular hole he had dug in the 
sand, his implement of death deposited by his side, 
and encircled with sea-birds, the trophies of his skill. 
Though it was piercing cold, his shoes were off his 



A SIGHT WORTH SEEING. 5 

feet, and carefully placed aside. When not intrud- 
ed upon, as at present, he crouched in his hole 
watching his prej, (very much as the ant-lion is said 
to do,) which he brought down as they passed him 
on the wing. I exchanged a few words with him as 
well as I could amid the blinding spray and the noise 
of the elements. Not wishing to interrupt him lon- 
ger, and fearing a gust of rain which was likely to 
overtake me from the West, I turned my horse and 
rode hastily home.— In the neigliborhood of E. there 
is an elevation of land of no more than 50 leet, 
frotn which is a fine view of the town ; the harbor 
with its shipping ; the S'rt'eeping course of Chappe- 
quiddick island ; the plain spotted with sheep ; sev^ 
eral cottage-houses in the distance ; the oak-forests 
in the interior ; the blue waters stretching along the 
horizon till lost from the eye by the high land on the 
North and West. 

The harbor of E. is almost entirely protected 
from winds and is one of the best in the world. A 
Nothvvester drove in something like an hundred sail 
a few weeks since. Though the wind blew a hur- 
ricane, and every thing on land shook as with the 
palsy, the surface of the bay was but little agitated 
and the vessels lay as tranquil as sea-birds in a calm. 
Next day the weather changed, and the scene I can 
never forget. The wind coming from the opposite 
quarter, the clouds passed off and the sun came 
down upon the waters bright and beautiful. The 

craft, small and great, uplifted their silver sails, and 
1* 



D CLIFFS AT GAYHEAD. 

with a good breeze made out to sea in almost regu- 
lar succession. For an hour or two they might be 
counted a few hundred rods apart, cleaving the deep 
blue waves with their dashing prows. At length 
they broke from the line and dispersed in all direc- 
tions upon the boundleJ^s ocean. 

The harbor is so much" supeiior to that of Nan- 
tucket, that the wliale-ships belonging to the latter 
are obliged to resort to it to prepare for their voya- 
ges, and, 1 believe, to unlade when they return. — 
Lighters carrying their outfits or return-freights, run 
between the islands. The soil of the island is in 
many parts fertile, producing good crops of Indian 
corn, rye, potatoes, &c. more than enough for home 
consumption. Some of the grass land is as good as 
it is upon tlie continent. There are some fine or- 
chards and different kinds of berries are plentiful. 
Much of the island is covered with a groulh of small 
oak. At Gayhead, the western extremity of the is- 
land, are some objects of no little curiosity. This 
is the territory of the Indians, of whom there yet re- 
main several hundred. The clay banks or cliffs at 
G. are 150 feet from the shore and in some places 
nearly perpendicular. Washed as they are by tem- 
pestuous rains into a variety of shapes, frequently re- 
sembling the most symmetrical Gothic pinnacles, 
and reflecting the several eolors, white, red, blue, 
yellow and black, as strongly and brilliantly as if 
prismatic, (each pinnacle having a different color,) as 
you pass them on the Sound in a clear day they are 



MRS. REMEMBER SKIFFE. / 

said to be iiidescribaljly bcauiiful. AVhalever ibey 
are on the water — tliey are so on the land. Hence 
the name Gayhead, Petrifactions of different sorts, 
such as \vood,quohaugs, and the vertebrae of fish, are 
taken from these cliifs 180 feet from the shore. The 
vertebra of a Lizard was shown me as large in cir- 
cnmfcrence as CL^firdinary plate, or the inner edge 
of my hat brim. This hzard, so thonght Professor 
Silliman, must have been 100 feet long and belong- 
ed to a species now extinct. The gentleman, wiio 
was kind enough to accompany me to the cliffs, dug 
from them the petrified claw of a turtle, quite perfect 
and of course very valuable. There is much food 
here for the Geological student. 

At Gayhead light was the home of Mrs. Remem- 
ber Skiffe, ever memorable, who lived a century, 
and when 93 years old knit 50 pairs of stockings in 
twelve months, and upon whom the angel of disease 
never put his finger until he summoned her from the 
world. Although G. is twenty miles from E. and 
it is necessary in going thither to take down and put 
up, some thirty pairs of bars, it will well repay the 
perseverance of the visitor. Here he will see the 
Devil's Den; which resembles the crater of as ex- 
tinct volcano; where, tradition informs us, the Gi- 
ant Maushop took up his abode and boiled whales 
for breakfast upon the forest trees he tore up by 
the roots. He decamped very suddenly and left 
his Satanic majesty heir to his possessions. The 
Panorama from the light, or from the head is very 



8 ATTACHED TO MASSACHUSETTS. 

extensive and fine. The e3'e takes in the broad ex- 
panse of the ocean ; the Sound with its nnany sail ; 
Falinonth ; N. Bedford, and the blue ouihne of No- 
man's Land and the Ehzabeth Islands. But enough 
for tlie present. Yours, &c. 



LETTER IL 

Martha's Vineyard, 18 — . 

It is surprizing how ignorant many of us are of 
many portions of our own Slate — even of places but 
a day's ride from our homes. Of many a man in the 
.State, even in the metropolis thereof, you might 
ask the question, whether Duke's County is a part 
of Massachusetts or Virginia, who would be at a loss 
for an answer. The most that is generally knowp 
of Martha's Vineyard, the larger part of the County, 
is, that it is an island. But exactly where it is ; 
how far from the main, and wdiether represented in 
the Genei'al Court, many, I think, would be puzzled 
to say. 

The County was under the jurisdiction of the 
Duke of York for some thirty years, until 1692 
wdien it became actually a part of Massachusetts: I 
say actually^ as it was nominally attached to Massa- 
chusetts as early as 1644, and afterwards in like 
manner to New York, for the only testimony of al- 
legiance paid to the latter state was the primitive tax 



ROUTES TO THE VINETARD. 9 

of two barrels of pickled codfish every year. Dur- 
ing the whole period of the setileinent of the Vine- 
yard from a time farther back than 1642, until it was 
finally and inseparably bound to Massachusetts in 
1692, it was quite republican in the mode of its gov- 
ernment. It was and is still, a place by itself — un- 
ique in its character and in the habits of its popula- 
tion. The point of the Vineyard, nearest Boston, 
is but little over eighty miles. There are two 
routes. You may go to N. Bedford and thence take 
the Nantucket Steamboat, which touches at Holmes' 
Hole — or to Falmouth through Plymoutii and 
Sandwich, thence in the mail boat to the same 
point. The distance from N. Bedford to Holmes* 
Hole is twenty-seven mijes — from Falmouth, eight 
miles. Packets moreover run every day from N. 
Bedford to Edgartown, a distance of thirty -six miles. 
The trip from N. Bedford to Edgartown, whether 
you proceed the whole distance by water or touch 
at Holmes' Hole, and cross the Island in a regular 
stage or chaise, is exc-eedingly pleasant. 

The superb city-like appearance of N. Bedford 
from Buzzard's Bay, (from this position it surpasses 
in beauty the principal cities of die Union) the Eli-= 
zabeth Islands of various form, size and aspect, 
those elysian fields for the bleating lambs and their 
meek mothers ; the broad Vineyard Sound ; and 
the irregular shore of the Continent, here and there 
enlivened by a diminutive village — these, to say 
jjQugbt of the Vineyard itself, more or less attract 



10 DOMESTIC ANIMALS. 

the eye and serve to render the passage interesting. 
From Falmouth to the Vineyard it is common to 
sail in an hour or a little over, and from N. Bedford 
to Edgartown, not uncommon to sail in three hours 
and a half. The packets, though not large^, are first 
rate, and, with a smart breeze and favoiable tide, 
will run twelve knots the hour with safety. 

The Vineyard is a paradise for sportsmen, abound- 
ing in all sorts offish and wild-fowl. Forty species 
of the latter might be enumerated without compre- 
hending near all. Domestic animals of all sorts, es- 
pecially sheep, are raised upon the island. In 1807 
there were about fifteen thousand. There has been 
some diminution since, and the exact number I can-^ 
not state. Nantucket is somewhat indebted to the 
Vineyard for its meat as well as vegetable market. 
The roads on the island are good or bad according 
to the nature of the soil. The road to the south 
shore is as good as one can desire. That to Holmes' 
Hole is not good, though as it leads directly across 
the Island through a peculiar sort of woodland, and 
as the scenery is wild and novel, it affords quite an 
agreeable ride. Some parts of the Vineyard are 
covered with shells to the depth of three feet. They 
are mostly tliie scallop andquahaug. In Edgartown 
there is an acre and a half covered to this depth. 
These are, unquestionably, spots where the Aboii- 
2;ines had their abode. Their remains and imple- 
ments are frequently exhumated in different parts 
of the Island. 



ENTERPRIZE OF THE INHABITANTS. 11 

The wonder has been expressed that the Islanders 
do not eng;age in the whale fishery. Ignorance is 
apt to wonder. The truth is, they are engaged in 
it, and own eight or nine first-rate ships. They were 
engaged in it before the revolutionary war, to the 
amount of fifteen or sixteen sail, but owing to some 
depressing losses occasioned by the war it was giv- 
en up. I am informed that eighty captains of whal- 
ing ships belong to Edgartown. They sail mostly 
from N. Bedford and are esteemed the most skillful 
and trust-worthy that can be found. It has been re- 
cently the same as asserted in some of the public 
prints, that the inhabitants are unenterprising. This 
is also far from the truth. Ample evidence to the 
contrary is contained in what has just been stated. 
If more evidence is needed, we might add, that 
out of a population in Edgartown of fifteen hun- 
dred, (which number comprises all ages, male and 
female^) about three hundred of those who have ar- 
rived at maturity — the most active and vigorous, 
the bone and muscle of the community are, I may 
say, ever abroad and in all quarters of the globe : 
and fiirdier that, out of a population of three thou- 
sand on the island, about five or six hundred cannot 
be said to have a home upon the land, but go down 
and not only go down, but live upon the sea in ships 
and do business, most venturous business, upon the 
great waters. 

Holmes' Hole is just what its name indicates. 
The village of the same designation is very prettily 



12 SATURDAY BAPTISTS. 

situated at tlie head of the bay which runs far into 
the land. It has on each side a promontory extend- 
ing boldly into the Sound. These promontories 
are denominated the East and West Chop ; per- 
haps because they chop the sea. It contains 
some churches and is about one third the size of 
Edgartown. This latter place (pronounced Edgar- 
ton) is situated on the south-eastern shore of the Is- 
land and is as compact as a city. The fellow-feel- 
ing produced by their circumstances.,their island-res- 
idence and sea-occupation, naturally concentrates 
inhabitants. 

The soil is more sandy here than in the more wes- 
tern parts of the Island. Several wharves run out 
some distance from the shore, and as vessels oft- 
times lie on all sides, in bad weather, from six to 
ten deep on the lee side, they give to the town an 
appearance of considerable business and enterprize. 
Many of the vessels are engaged in the fisheries, and 
belong to the Saturday Baptists of New London. 
This sect was new to me until I visited the Vine- 
yard. There I learned that they keep strictly the 
Jewish Sabbath, and make for the harbor on Friday 
evening or Saturday morning. On this day, the 
crews of several vessels congregate together and 
have a regular service performed. Their character 
in a moral and religious point of view is represented 
very favorably. But to return, the houses are only 
two stories in height, neat, though many are unpaint- 
ed. The best paint is worn off in a year or two by 



HOUSES, &C. OF THE INHABITANTS. 13 

the salt air and the driving storms. Whitewash is 
ahnost, if not quite, as durable. Some of them are 
modern in their structure, painted white, and orna- 
mented with Venetian blinds. A taste for a variety 
of colors prevails. It is not uncommon to see the 
body of a house of one color with the border or 
trimmings of another. The fences are touched off 
in like manner. Many of them, along the top, are 
hollowed into curves resembling those formed by 
chains suspended at each extremity. The houses 
have a social aspect, and remind one of the mild 
climate of a southern latitude, for almost every door 
opens upon an enclosed platform furnished with 
seats on either side. Handsome grass-plots orna- 
mented with flowers, are attached to several houses 
in the village. An air of comfort pervades the 
apartments and the tables are well supplied with 
good things. Bread -making is an art well under- 
stood and for it the inhabitants are famed. Though 
fsh is so plentiful and excellent, I never saw it served 
up but twice in the course of a month, and then in 
consequence of some wish expressed to that effect. 
That nearest at hand is often least desired. A com- 
mon blessing is often, for that reason, least prized. 
Pies and cake with tea and coffee are in many fam- 
ilies put upon the table three times a day. The 
inhabitants are remai-kable for their kind-heartedness; 
and, thougli a certain class are said to be grossly ig- 
norant, the standard of intelligence is much higher 
than in the inland towns of our State. The propor- 
2 



14 CHAR-iCTER OP THE INHABITANTS. 

tion of females is large, partly owing to the exposure 
of the male population. One is surprised to observe 
so many pleasant and intelligent countenances, such 
a degree of good taste in dress and improvement 
in manners. Even to this place, by some consid- 
ered a by-corner of the world, the empire of fashion 
has reached and exerts a powerful influence. Of 
the inhabitants in general and of the amiable sex in 
particular, it may be said with truth that they are in 
mind acute and sprightly ; in temperament gleeful 
and happy. Their sensibilities are quick, and hence 
thev are more liable to turns of excitement and de- 
pression than the dwellers upon the continent. 

The causes which have conduced to this peculi- 
arity will be remarked upon in my next letter. 

Yours, &:c. 



LETTER III. 

Martha's Vineyard, IS — . 

In my last letter it was remarked that the Island- 
ers are quick in their sensibilities, easily excited and 
easily depressed. In the present it is my intention 
at the first, to fulfil my promise of assigning the cau- 
ses which have united to produce their peculiar tem- 
perament. With this the climate is generally ack- 
nowledged to have much to do, operating as it does, 
powerfully upon the nervous system. Other caus- 
ses, co-operating with the one mentioned, are the 



NERVOUS PECULIARTIES. 15 

free use of strong tea and coffee, which constitute a 
part, and an important part, of every meal ; the na- 
ture of sea life, which carries the men far away from 
their homes and exposes them to great hazards, thus 
depriving their families of their counsel and encour- 
agement and keeping these in a continual state of 
anxic/y — their out-of-the-way-of-the-world situa- 
tion, having the effect to concentrate and strength- 
en their interests and afiections, their extraordinary 
religious eflbrts and excitements, continued in times 
past, night after night, for months in succession , 
You may be surprized, Mr. Editor, at this last ob- 
servation. There is no doubt, however, of the fact, 
and as little of the result ; for mv information is de- 
rived from many persons, and especially from an in- 
telligent physician resident upon the Island for sev- 
eral years. Why, Sir, this place has been the strong- 
hold of fanatical preachers, and not seldom patients 
have been transferred from the hands of the clergy- 
man to those of the physician. What think you of 
meetings every night in the week for six weeks, yes, 
for three months in succession, prolonged sometimes 
even into midnight, until the vestry floor, by its ap- 
parently lifeless trophies, bears melancholy witness 
to the tremendous effects WTOught upon the nervous 
system by the machinery of superstition? Such un- 
welcome statements I would not publish unless sup- 
ported by the best of evidence. They proceed 
from the lips of those who have been constant atten- 
dants on such occasions. But to borrow the quaint 



16 RELIGIOUS EXCITEMENT. 

phrase of an ungrammared rustic, — ' times a'n't as 
they used to was.' There has been some change 
for the better, though, strange as it may seem, the 
present Clergyman of the Trinitarian Society in Ed- 
gartown, one year since, held a meeting of no less 
than six weeks duration. You may form some con- 
ception of the burden of his duties, when informed 
that he had just entered the ministry and been or- 
dained over his people. He told me he was pretty 
much run down; and well he might be. It is sur- 
prizing he ever got up again. 

An anecdote occurs to me illustrative of the ex- 
tent to which religious excitement has been some- 
times carried. A farmer, who had been in the habit 
of attending the protracted meetings, was much 
wrought upon. One day, while hoeing in his field 
alone, he was worked up into a state of unconlrolable 
ecstacy. In the wild rush of his feelings he threw 
his hoe into the air with all the momentum that lay 
in his muscles and shouted to the top of his lungs. 
But to return. 

How far, or whether in any degree the tempera- 
ment of the islanders is to be ascribed to inherited 
tendencies I am unable to affirm, though intelligent 
and well informed gentlemen say that some of the 
the original settlers were constitutionally nervous, 
and that, in consequence of the little intercourse 
they had with the continent in former times and 
their near as well as frequent intermarriages, the 
evil has been aggravated. However this may be, 



AN INCIDENT. 17 

one thing is certain, that at the present clay this char- 
acteiisiic is more observable in some families and 
iheir branches than in others. Cases of nervous 
debility, hysterics, and mental prostration arc not in- 
frequent. Taking a walk one pleasant morning I 
left the town a mile or two behind me, pursuing my 
way into the interior of the island. Being some- 
what fatigued, I sat down to rest myself on the edge 
of a forest of small oak trees. Not expecting to be 
greeted by the sight of a human being I suflered my- 
self to fall into an idle revery. In a moment or two 
turning my eye into the depth of the forest, I per- 
ceived a wagoner descending a small lise of ground 
with a load of produce. Fearing he might be some- 
what starded at the sight of me in that solitary place, 
I resolved to prove to him that mental alienation had 
not caused me to stray thither, and whoi he reach- 
ed me, forthwith commenced conversation with him. 
We walked along in company. In early life, he 
said, he had been accustomed to the seas, but was 
now engaged in tilling the soil some eight or nine 
miles from Edgartown. He was talkative and know- 
ing, and told me about the island, its climate, and in- 
habitants. Said he, a certain person, (naming him) 
who had been much about the world, said to my fa- 
ther, that in all his travels he never saw so many 
' Narvous ' people as on this Island, and the farmer 
corroborated this observation by adding that there 
were indeed ' many women in a poor way — and 
aiome persons crackheaded.' Other items of his 



IS CLIMATE. 

conversation I reHieniber, but this is all to my pur- 
pose. 

Beside snervous disorders, wLicb are con'mon, con- 
sumption prevails to some extent ; but, il istliougbt, 
less than on ibe conti'eni. To fevers, dysentery 
and ^out tbe Islanders can bardly be said to be sub- 
ject. The temperature is even, tbe mercury sel- 
dom if ever rising abuve 85, or falling lower than 6 
below zero. The air is remarkably ))nre and for 
most constitutions salubrious. Those who arc from 
tbe inland part of ihe continent, are generally braced 
up, and highly exhilaialed by its powerful nervous 
action. Unless when the weather changes there is 
far less difference between the air in the day and 
night than in Boston and other parts of Massachu- 
setts. No noxious exhalation from the ground in- 
fuses its chill and poison. There is a blandiiess in 
the breath of night that is truly delicious. For spring 
and mid-winter in this respect I cannot vouch, but 
for summer and autumn I can. The consequence 
is that the latter part of the day and evening are the 
chosen time for the fair to make their appearance. 
At this period there is a life and joy around that re- 
mind one of a different clime. 

The length of the village is the common prome- 
nade. A favorite resort is the Breakwater, erected 
by the general government at an expense of seven 
thousand dollars. It is built very strong of plank 
and timber, and runs an eighth of a mile into the Bay. 
It is wider than the foot walks of our bridges, and be- 



BREAKWATEn — CLIMATE. 19 

in2; railed iii.inuc'i resembles tlicin. At its cxtrcmitv 
is a small (.Iwellingaiid rg!it-housec,oiijoincd. It is of 
the purest wh'te and gl'ste;is beraiLiiirily in I'le clear 
beams of the selling sun. The view, b'om l!iis point, 
of the lively happy village reposing so quietly along 
the shore, and of the calm blue I>ay outspread on 
either side, is uncommonly ])lGasing. The termi- 
nation of an afternoon's ramble generally found me 
fastened to this aitractivc spot. 

About the climate it may be well to make one or 
two n)ore obsei'vaiions. In Winter the winds are 
boisterous. From whatever quarter they blow they 
have an almost unimpeded sweep across the Islar.d. 
In Spring and Summer fogs are frccpient but not in- 
jurious to health. Tlic suddenness with which, 
however dense, they are burnt up by the morning 
sun in Summer, is truly astonishing. It is almost a 
fairy scene. During the most severe and fleecy 
winters upon the main snow falls but very seldom, 
and even poor sleighing is a rare phenomenon. Last 
Winter there was not snow enough on the ground 
for sleighing until March, and then only for a few 
days. In mid-winter the Island is mostly encircled 
with ice. For some days all communication 
with the main is cut off. Last winter the Packets 
were obliged to lie by for four weeks ; the mail-boat 
however was detained but a week. The climate is 
favorable to longevity. As an evidence of this it is 
rek^tcd that out of six of the Mayhew family, th^^t 
might be named, not one died onder 84 ; two died 



20 



LONGEVITY HABITS. 



at 87, and one at 90. Of die Couin fcniily it is al- 
so matter of history, Uiai the father died at 83, and 
of his ten children none died under 70, four died 
above 80, and two at 90. 

Tlie Piano did not find its way to the Island until 
recently. Now you are enlivened by the pleasant 
tones of several, as you pass up and down the prin- 
cipal street. At any hour of the night the streets 
are perfectly safe. On Nantucket, a few years since, 
it was so well known who was on the Island, and 
such a true, confidential, and delightfully pleasant 
feeling pervaded the population, that it was an un- 
known thins; to lock or bar one's doors at nic;ht. I 
doubt not the same was true of the Vineyard. 

There are no signs of intemperance in Edgartown. 
None are licenced to sell spirit, and all that is used 
is bought and sold secretly. Beer, cider, and wine 
are rarely seen. The inhabitants are remarkable for 
a generous, upright, peaceable, and religious charac- 
ter. Only three cases of litigation have gone to the 
Jury in the space of five years. Of course there is 
little or nothing for lawyers to feed upon. Knitting 
was a very general occupation some thirty years 
since. We aie informed by Dr. Freeman,* that 
15,000 pairs of stockings, — 3, COO mittens, and 600 
wigs for seamen were knit annually. It is far from 
being so now. The good old times rise in judgment 



*He wrote an Interesting narrative of Dul;e's County inl807, 
inserted in the Collectiomof the Massachusetts liistoriqal Socie-? 
ty, Vol. 3d, 2d Series. 



MODERN DEGExVERACY. 21 

against the sad degeneracy of the present, and con- 
demn them. It used to l)e said that when you 
reached Cape Poge h'ght (which is near ilie North 
extremity of Chappcquiddick Island and several 
miles from the Vineyard) you could hear the 
knitting needles at Edgartown. It is not so now, 
and many an ancient and discreet personage is found 
to lament that the fingers of the fair are hewitch- 
ed to thrum the keys of that modern notion and 
arrant time-killer, — the Piano. Ifii.ey could on- 
ly talk Latin, how feelingly they would exfdainij 
tempora — mores. Yours. 



LETTER III 

Martha's Vineyard, 18 — . 

The Vineyard is set oH' into three townships, 
Chilmark, Tisbury, and Edgartown. Gayhead, 
which contains the best land on the Island, is com- 
prised witliin the limits of Chilmark. 't is, as I 
have before observed, in possession of the Indians. 
Some of it is cultivated by them, but the larger pari 
is used fbr pasturage. As you ride over its uneven 
snrface, now to the summit of a rugged knoll, now 
down the precipitous sides of a deep hollow, again 
along the margin of an extended, irregular })ond, it 
gives an aspect of life to the bald and desolate scen- 
ery to catch a view here and there of the herds ol 



22 A PATRIARCH. 

2;i'az'mg cattle. One half the inhabitants of the Is- 
land are dispersed over the townships of Chilmark 
and Tisbury. Much of these townships Is covered 
with shrub-oak. That portion which is cleared is 
good for pasturage or tillage. The northern and 
western parts swell into hills, on whose summits rise 
granite rocks of peculiar shape and appearance. At 
a distance it is easy to mistake them for houses and 
barns. Some are hollowed at the top, and, if in 
the neighborhood of houses, are turned to good ac- 
count by being converted into watering troughs- 
The goat race, like the Indian, is fast disappearing 
before the tide of civilization. Among the few that are 
left, when threading my way through the forests 
of bitter oak towards Gayhead, I saw one w^hose 
like I am sure I never shall see again. To describe 
him would be impossible. A patriarch of many 
generations — with a hair-coat of the glossiest black 
and purest whhe ! The sight of it was enough to 
keep off the chill of the most searching north-easter. 
And then what an imposing creature ! As big ev- 
ery whit as a Shetland poney. What noble propor- 
tions ! What a bold and martial front, with threat- 
ening and sturdy turrets above, and a huge sweeping 
length of matted gray beard below, such as would 
cheer the heart of the ' straitest sect ' of Jew or 
Turk ! Such a veteran would have been the pride 
of a mena2;erie. Alone he would have drawn more 
visiters]than the big ox, or the mock sea-serpent. You 
could not but pay him reverence. Mammoth as he 



A VIEW 23 

was, he had grown up from infancy on leaves and 
twigs and buds. 

Onward a few miles — a little more than an hour's 
ride from Gayhead, where you must alight from 
your chaise and mount your horse — wliilc prepa- 
rations are making, strike across the fields to the 
South Coast, overleaping a few walls and fences. 
It is but half a mile, and you will never regret it. 
You will soon reach the bold head-land. But be 
cautious that you approach not too near. Step light- 
ly, for the smooth grass platform on which you 
tread is precarious footing. The bank is worn away 
many feet underneath and the turf projects far over 
without support. If it should give way, as it has by 
the weight of cattle grazing along its edge and by 
the force of gravity alone, you would be precipita- 
ted more than a hundred and thirty feet, with nothing 
to interrupt your descent until you reached the roar- 
ing surf,or struck upon the sea-worn rocks below — 
at any period of tide a fatal fall. But take your 
station a little from the edge, with one hand hold of 
the rails of a fence, which seems erected here for 
your especial convenience and security ; then bend 
over and take a view of the spectacle. The sea — 
it is far, far beneath you. You are beyond the 
reach of the wildest, maddest leap of its fury. As 
it chafes upon the rocky shore, its solemn music 
reaches your car softened by distance. Now raise 
your head — look ofTupon the measureless expanse. 
Not a handful of earth till you reach Cuba or the 



24 THE FINNY TRIBE. 

Bahamas. What a flood of waters! How profound 
and infinite ! How awful, yet how peaceful ! 
' What heavenly dignity'! Mysterious sea ! in thy 
slumbers how serene — in thy wrath how terrific ! 
Below, among the rocks and sands, thou dost 'play 
upon thy lowest stops.' Thou sendest upward thy 
mellowest — richest tones. 

One may readily determine the great difference 
between the night air along the shore and inland by 
taking a ride of a (ew miles from Edgartown — say 
as far as Tisbury. In Tisbury and Chilmark, as 
soon as the sun has set, the dank vapours rise and 
the chill dews fall. Eaily in Autumn a coat is need- 
ed, and thin ice makes in the pools and ponds. 
While in Edgartown the evenings are mild, clear, 
and summer-like. However in all parts of the Island 
the ' fig-tree and the vine do yield their strength.' 

The shark is rarely seen ; but the whale occa- 
sionally gambols a few miles from the South beach. 
The sword-fish you may take when you will. The 
squid is a soft bladder-fish found in the sand, egg- 
shaped and of variegated colors ;very attractive to the 
eye, but poisonous to the touch. With the Island- 
ers the brilliant blue-fish and the large fat eels of the 
ponds and harbors (fifteen barrels of which are 
sometimes taken in a night) are luxuries, as well as 
that unique and really luscious dish — the corn-pud- 
ding. 

The bellows fish must not be omitted, which 
pumps water into a membraneous apartment on its 



A HARE POND. 25 

under side, and swells itself to such a degree that 
its diametei' is equal to twice its length. Singular 
contrivance this ! yet II serves a most important pur- 
pose. The fish thus escaj)es all enemies that u'ould 
swallow it up. 

Its security in its own clement is its ruin on land. 
The liiile Islanders — mischievous urchins — catch 
it and scratch its stomach to make it swell. When 
it has reached its full chmensions, they give it a blow 
with a stick or stone, and it bursls with a noise as 
loud as a pistol. 

It the vicinity of Edgartown is a pond which is 
said to rise in chy weather and fall in wet. Do you 
doubt it. reader ? Many of three-score years and ten 
declare it upon their honor, and would testify to 
It upon oath. You may bo Incredulous if you will, 
but such is the testimony. 

This is not the only strange and phenomlnal thing 
about the Island. Credible men say that the hys- 
tericks prevail moie or less in those families living 
along the Southern shore. The air is saturated with 
the salt-vapour and strains up the system beyond its 
capacity of endurance. Indeed the haughty sea 
loves his solitary grandeur, and with hoarse tones 
thunders in the ear of obtrusive humanity ■ — ' hith- 
erto shall thou come but no further, and here thy 
proud feet be stayed.' 

Strange as it may seem, the flood tide sets up be- 
tween the Elizabeth Islands and Gayhead, and flows 

eastward through the Sound on towards Massachu- 
3 



26 BEST WALKING IN BAD WEATHER. 

sells Bay, and the ebb lide accordingly in a contra- 
ry ^direclion. At Point Judilb the reverse is true. 

Oil is money. Hence on the Island the circu-- 
lating medium is plentiful. For invalids the Island 
oilers advantages that few other places possess, at 
least in one particular. You are not shut up withini 
doors at any season of the year in consequence of 
muddy streets. Tlie slippery chi) -hills up and down 
the Kennebec and Penobscot render it impossible 
to step oul after an April shower widiout carrying 
along w^ith you a considerable portion of the street. 
Here it is the best walking in bad weather. Heavy; 
rains have an effect upon the soil similar to the: 
' hammer of the surf ' upon the sea-beach. 

The old stock of the Islanders may be said to 
have a language and pronunciation of their own. 
The former Is quaint, hearty, and much set off with 
sea-phrases and wild imagery. The latter is singU' 
larly provincial, full of force and meaning, and high- 
ly amusing. These remarks must be confined to 
the old settlers, some of whom have never set foot 
upon the main-land. If one of them wdio had seen 
nothing but salt-water and a patch ol earth w^ere sud- 
denly transported to the crowded streets of Boston 
or New-York, what would he think ? That he was 
in his own sphere ? Notwithstanding such cases as 
these, there are men on the Vineyard who have en 
joyed good advantages of education, and have much 
experience and knowledge of the world. And it is. 
not strange, for they have visited its remotest cor 



THE INDIANS. 27 

nei'S. The i-epresentation fi-om this place in the 
HoLi?e and Senate is more than respectable, and 
will compare with that fiom almost any part of the 
State. — Remarks upon the condition of the Indi- 
ans and the state of Religion in a future number. 
Yours. 



LETTER V. 

Martha's Vineyard, 18 — . 

It was my intention, Mr. Editor, to have taken 
some pains to prepare for your present paper a no- 
tice of the past and present condition of the Indians 
of Martha's Vineyard. Upon looking into the ' His- 
torical Collections ' to obtain some facts illustrative 
of their condition in the early settlement of our 
country, a narrative written some thirty years since 
so much pleased me by its interesting matter and 
agreeable style that to attempt to condense and im- 
prove it seemed to me unnecessary and presumptu- 
ous. I gladly avail myself of its contents without 
alteration for other important reasons with which I 
doubt not you will equally coincido. Though writ- 
ten in 1307, it in the main describes correctly the 
confiition of the Aborigines at the present time. It 
is moreover understood to be, and without question 
is, the production of the late deceased and venerable 
Dr. Freeman of King's Chapel. Since the account 
was written Mr. Frederic Baylies has been minister 



28 THE INDIANS. 

and teacher among the Indians, until within a few 
months. He was a true-h.earied man and hidily 
useful in the sphere allotted to him. He labored 
diligently among, them foi' some twenly-five years. 
The first time I visited the Island he was hale and 
vigoroiil, devoted to his work and much interested 
in the furtherance of liberal views of Christianity. 
The last time I was there the sad. intelligence was 
brought of his sudden death while on a journey into 
the Western part of the State of New- York. His 
salary w^as about 550 dollars, a portion of which he 
expended for the support of Teachers among the 
Indians on the Vineyard, Nantucket, and Cape Cod. 
Under his instruction and preaching the Indians have 
a good deal improved. They are more character- 
ized by honest, chaste, sober, and industrious habits 
than when Dr. Freeman visited them. In number 
it is difficult to say whether there has been any de- 
cided increase or diminution for thirty years past, 
though Mr. B. whose judgment it would seem must 
be correct, was of opinion they had decreased, 
The number in 1S07 was 240. The present num- 
ber is not far different. Says Dr. F.: 

"The name ofiNTartlia's Vineyard, according to Gookin,was 
Nope; but according to all oiiiers of the old writers, it was Cap- 
awock. Gookin, who appeare to have taken pains to ascertain 
facts, and in whose Collection there is an air of simplicity and 
truth, is not to be cliarged with having invented this word Nope; 
but the probability is that ihe island had two name*. At the 
time in which it was discovered by the English it was full of in- 
habitants ; and as they continued to be numerous, when it was 



THE INDIANS. 

iirst settled by the English, it aiay be concludtd Uiat il \\u~. jaOt 
visited by tlio pestilence of ItilT. Not less than three thousand 
Indians, it has been goneraliy estiniat''d, were on ihe Island 
i.vhen it was entered b^- Mayliew. As it seetns capable of aup- 

I>oiting scarcely a greater nuaiber of white inhabitants, who oc- 
II py much less space than savages, it niay be asked, whence did 
I ) many ofthese ehi dren of nature derive their subsistence? 
Troin ihe account that has birn given of .^'artha's Vineyard, it 
'vill be easy to answer this question. The truth is tliat its liar- 
oors, coves, lagunes, and ponds afford an iiie.\hanstible supply 
)f lood. They coidd obtain the shell fish, wliich lie in such 
profusion on its sliorcs, without the exercise of niueh iiiventiQn; 
and tliey had discovered several ingenious tuethods of entrap- 
ping the eels and other fish, which swim in its waters. Tiie Js~ 
land il>5eic wa3 not destitate of game ; and innnmerable birds 
haunted its woods and coasts, which would sometimes be pierc- 
ed by the arrows of the Indians ; not to mention that the sandy 
soil was peculiarly fivorable to the cultivation of sqaashea, 
leans, and maize It was a knowledge of these things, which 
nduced so many of the savages to press to these islands, and the 
,>arts of the coast which resemble them : they appear barren to 
hose who think that no country is fruitful, where the fields are 
lot green ; but to an Indian they were the most fcrtilo parts of 
Vmerica. That Martha's Vineyard then was capable of sustain- 
ng a multitude of inhabitants, is evident ; and that this was the 
act may vvith some degree of pobabiiity be inferred from the 
reat number of proper names in common use. There was not 
hill, a cove, a point of land, or a pond, however small, which 
ad not its own appellation. 3Iany ofthese names are fanuliar 
J the white inhabitants ; and many more which have becoite 
»bsoletfc,are still to be found in deeds of land and ancient boohs. 
iVords follow the steps of men ; and where a conntry by dis- 
•enct names is subdivided into many minute parts, there is al- 
Jvays reason to suppose that it has a numerous population. 

" But though there is no room fer doubting the testimony 
)f the writers who assert, that when these islands vAcre first set- 
lied by the English, they were well filled with inhabitants, yet i- 

3* 



so THE INDIANS. 

appears, that the peop'e began to waste away, soon after the 
whites appeared among them. In 1643, and ai several other 
times they were visited by a general disease. This was pr©ba- 
l)ly the yellaw fever, which was, with the consumption, the dis- 
order of which they commonly died. In 1G74, they were re- 
duced to three hundred families, or about fifteen hundred souls. 

" Like the other savages of New England, they were in a low 
state of civilzation ; and they had attained few of the arts, which 
contribute to tiie comfort of human life. The houses were small, 
mean, and generally filled with smoke ; and their weapons of 
war were feeble and pointless, as is evident from the stone 
heads of their arrows which are still frequently picked up. They- 
were however a hospitable and tractable people. When, there- 
fore, the younger Mr. Mayhew attempted to introduce the gos- 
pel among them, they received him with kindness, and with 
readiness listened to his exhortations. The wonderful progress 
wkich the Christian religion, through the zeal of this eminent 
evangelist and his worthy successors, made in Martha's Vine- 
yard, surprized and delighted the pious of that age ; and they 
failed not to notice with minute attention its various circum- 
stances. The younger Mr. Mayhew labored in this benevolent 
work, with diligence and fervor till his death. It was then as- 
sumed by his father, and after him by his son ; and it has been 
carried on in the same family to the present day. In less than 
thirty years almost every Indian on the Island had becon>e a 
professed Christian. At first they were only catechumens ; but 
they were formed into a church in 1659, from which another 
church arose in the year 1670. 

" The Indians were converted to the Christian faith ; and at- 
tempts were made to reduce them to a state of civilization. But 
they who have been conversant with the Indians will often 
repeat how unprofitable the labor hath been either to civilize 
or convert them. Much money hath been expended to little or 
no purpose ; and every method to educate them has failed. 
They who met with most success, such as Mr. Eliot and Mr. 
INIayhew, had they lived longer, would have wondered to see 
how soon their disciples returned to their former ignorance and 



THE INDIANS. 31 

stupidity, how little tliirerenco was made iu the face of the wil- 
derness. If it blossomed for a while and yielded some little 
fruit, the season was short and what was not covered with weeds, 
proved a cold an 1 barren soil. The Mayhews. however pious 
and benevolent, did not much benefit the Indians , but the Eng- 
lish gained the most essential advantages from the ascendency 
which was gained over their minds ; they were disarmed of 
their rage ; they were made friends and fellow subjix-ts. At 
length they ceased lobe formidable from anolhercar.se: their 
numbers dwindled away, their courage abated, and they sunk 
into a mean and depressed people. The progress of ll-.eir de- 
cliHeto the year 1764, is exhibited in the following table : — 

" Number of Indians in Duke's County at live diflcrent peri- 
ods : in 1642, 3000 ; 1674, 1500 ; 169S, 1000 ; 1720, SOO ; 
1764, 313. 

" The present state of these Indians has not much to excite 
attention or interest curiosity. Beginning east the first collection 
is found at Chappaquiddick. On this Island they have a tract of 
land reserved to them, containing about eight hundred acres. 
They are much intermixed with white and negro blood, very 
few of them being pure Indians ; and they have been improved 
in their habits atid industry by the intermixture. Several of them 
live in framed housei, are good farmers, and are tolerably neat 
in their persons and habitations. The old men only are far- 
mers, and are assisted by the women, who sow and hoe the 
corn : the young men are seamen. Theii lands are not enclosed; 
but their cattle are kept with a tedder. Their nunibcrs which 
are probably increasing, are sixtv-five, of whom nine are stran- 
gers, intermerried with them. Tlit^ framed houses are ten ; the 
wigvvan)s two. 

"Near Sangekantacket, adjoining the Logune, at a place 
called Farm Neck, there was formerly a large town of Indians; 
and twenty persons of a n)ixed race still remain, who live in six 
houses, are divided into six families, and retain near two iiun- 
dred acres of land. 

•' At West Chop in Tisburr, there is one Indian family, con 
listing of five persons, 



32 THE INDIANS. 

" In tha north-west part uf Tisl)uiy there is n. tract of iaad; 
■called Christiantovvn, assijtied to iha Indians, who are phiced 
tinder giiardians. They consist of nine funjilies and thirty-two 
souls, of whom one male and six fenial«s are pure ; the rest are 
mixed, chiefly with whites. 

"The great body (jf the Indian-! is at Gayhead. They have 
here a tract of escellent land, coiit;;ining three thousand acres, 
reserved to them. It is destitute of trees ; but there are many 
r.WHnips, some of which afford peat, and ot'iers, springs of gooJ 
water. Tiie laud is breslien into hiils ; and there are no roads, 
r'he Indians have twenty-six framed houses and seven wigwams, 
.he framed houses are nothing better than mean huts ; sonie of 
hem have two apartments ; but the greatest p:irt of tiieai, not 
nore than one. There are tiiree barns, and two meeling-hous- 
;s, wliich are small buildings not m^re than twenty feet square. 
Che number of families is thirty l^our 5 and of souls one hundred 
.nd forty two : beside whom about a hundred Indians are ab- 
sent from Gayhead ; some of whom are children put out to ser- 
ice in English families ; and others whale-man ; making the 
vhole number of proprietors, about two hundred and forty. Ev- 
^ry native, whether he live off or on the ii'and, is considered as 
. proprietor ; and every child born to him is entitled to a right, 
vhich is equivalent to the pasture of three sheep. No sheep are 

' p>-jf ^ ^ ^ 5^ ir jH :fr 

The mixed race is better than the pure Indians. Al- 
lost ull of them have cows ; and a few of them, oxen ; they 
•vvn as many as twenty horses. A part of their land is every 
ear let to tiie whites ; and the income is appropriated to the 
upport of their poor. The Indians raise very little corn, but 
.ave pretty good gardens. They annually sell a hundred or 
wo hundred bushels of cranberries, wliich grow in great plen- 
y in their cranberry bogs. The rest of their subsistence is 
,3rived from fishing ; and from the sale of clay, which they 
ispose of on the spot for three dollars, and when they carry it 
4 market, f )r five dollars a ton. Small as their numbers are, 
•.3y have two preachers ; one of whom i? a Baptist ; the other 
Congregational ist : the first of the mixed race, the sec.ocid .an 



TIIK INDIANS. oo 

Indian. Beside tlia Iiousos at Gayhead, there is one Ind'an 
house and three wigwams at Chiimarlc ; all the irihahitants of 
vvh'ch, except a woman living in one of the wigwam-, have 
riglits rit Gayhead, and are inchided in their numb r. 'I hft In- 
dians in tliis part oftlie island, are generally unchaste, intem- 
perate, without forethought, and many ofthem dishonest. Thr?y 
are however more indf.slrioiis, and neater in their persons and 
houses than is comnion for Indians." Yours. 



LETTER YL 

Martha's Vineyard, IS — . 

The Indian huts are dispersed over a laige ex- 
tent at Gayhead. On my way to the cliffs I pass- 
ed a small buildinir used for a school-house and 

O 

church. It is situated upon the summit of a knoll 
from which there is a fine prospect. Of the Indi- 
ans it is said ihei'c are not more than five or six full- 
blooded. While giving an account of the Indians, 
the labors and character of the Mayhews, who were 
the first apostles of Christ among them, ought not to 
be passed over slightly. On this j)oint I am happy 
to recur agfin to Dr. Freeman : 

"Mr. Mayhew having established himself peaceably on the 
Island, undertook with the assistance of his son, to civilize and 
christianize the native inhabitants. Of the attempts which wore 
made to convert the Indians to the fiith of the gospel wfi slnil 
not speak, except so fir as mny be necessary to show with 
what prudence and moderation Mr. ISfayhew conducted himself 
in liis intercourse with the natives. The sachems of these is- 
lands were absolute in their government ; but they were subject 



34 THE INDIANS. 

in certain respects to the sagamore of the Wamponoags, to 
whom t'ley were obliged to do homage and make annual 
presents. This subjeetion was irksome to their minds ; and 
they were ready to repel any new jittempt to impose an addi- 
tional yoke upon them; or to withdraw their subjects from the 
obedience which was due to their p'-inces. When, llierefore, 
they perceived the EngMsh nlis^^ionarie3 among their people, 
they became jealous th:!t in theiranimated harangues, they wer \ 
aiming to attach them to their own persons, and tiiat under the 
pretence of religion ihey were invading the authority of tlie sa- 
chems. 

"Mr. ?tlayhew observing this jealousy and the causes of it, 
took an opportunity of addressing the sackems in the following 
terms : Taat bv an order from the kin» of England he was to gov- 
ern the English who inhabited these islands ; that his royal master 
was in power superior to any of the Indian sagamores ; but 
that he was just, as well as powerful ; that therefore he would 
not in any manner invade their jurisdiction ; but on the contra- 
ry , assist them, if necessary ; that religion and government were 
distinct concerns ; and that the sachems might retain their au- 
thority, though their subjects were christians. By such prudent 
speeches he soon brought them to entertain a good opinion of 
the christian religion. 

" When afterwards the number of christian Indians increas- 
ed, he prevailed upon them to admit the counsels of judicious 
christians in their controversies, and in cases of more than ordi- 
nary consequence to intr«duce a jury for trial ; promising his 
own assistance to the sachems, whose assent was always to he 
obtained, though they were notchristions. Thus in a few years 
he established a h:'.ppy admmistration ofjustice among them, to 
tlieir great satisfaction ; and records were kept of all their pro- 
ceedings in tiieir several courts, by those who had learned to 
write, and who were appointed to the office. 

'• By his prudent conduct and arguments, he convinced the 
sachems themselves of the distinguishing excellence of the Eng- 
lish government; and in his administration he gave them so fair 
an example of it3 happiness, as not only filled them* with a 



THE INDIANS. oO 

ctroug desire of adopting the same form themselves, but even 
induced them voluntarily to make a public ac!:novvledgment of 
their siibjeclioii to the crown of England ; Ihougli at the same 
time they were careful to have it understood, that they retained 
their authority as subordinate princes. 

" In his administration he was always ready to hear and re- 
dress their grievances, on the first complaint, without the least 
delay ; by which means he wisely prevented any unfavorable 
impression being made on their minds thro'igh a neglect of jus- 
lice. Whenever lie decided any causes between ihem, he not 
only gave them equal ju-*tice wirh ihe English, but he also to k 
paina to convince them ihal what he determined was right. He 
would not sutler any one to injure theni either in their goods; 
lands, or persons. They always found in hun a protector and a 
father : by the dignity of his manners, he exciled their rever- 
ence; and by his condescension and benevolence he secured 
their affection. In consequence of this discreet and virtuous 
conduct, no difference took place between the English and na- 
tives on these islands as long as he lived among them, which 
was near forty years. The Indians admired and loved him as 
a suptnior being, who alw lys did what was right, and who had 
no other object than to make them happy. 

" In the year 1675, the war, which like a black cloud had 
hovered during four years over New England, burst with fury 
on the country. Almost all the Indian nations on the IMain 
were united against the English. Alarm and terror were dif- 
fused on every side ; and the while inhabitants suffered their 
minds to become unreasonably exasperated against all the Indi- 
ans wirhout distinction, and even against their christian friends. 
Of this jealous spirit were several persons at Martha's Vineyard, 
who with difliculty could be restrained by Mr. IMayhcw and oth- 
ern associated in the magistracy with him, from attempting to 
disarm the Indians by whom they were surrounded, and whose 
number greatly exceeded that of the English. 

" For the satisfaction of these jealous persons, Capt. Richard 
Sarsan was sent with a small party to the west end of the island, 
where the least dependence was to be placed on the Indians 



oO THE INDIANS. 

because they were nearest the continent, and were the last who 
had embraced Christianity. He made known to them the sus- 
picions of some of the white inhubitants, and returned with this 
wise and amicable answer : That the surrender of their arms 
would expose them to the power of the Indians engaged in the 
present war, who were not less enemies to thsm than to the 
Enghsh ; that they had never given occasion for the jealousy 
which now seemed to be entertained of them ;lhat if by any means 
without hazardmg their safety, they could afford further proof 
of their friendship and fidelity, they would readily doit; but 
that they were unwilling to deliver up their arms, unless the 
English would propose another method which would be more 
likely to ensure their preservation. With this answer they sent 
a writing, which was drawn up in their own language and in 
which they declared : That as they had submitted freely to the 
crown of England, so they were resolved to assist the English on 
these islands against their enemies,, whom they accounted as 
much enemies to themselves, as to any other of the subjects of 
the king. This paper was subscribed by persons of the greatest 
note and power among them. 

" The Governor, Mr. Tdayhew, was so well satisfied with the 
answer which was sent, that he enjploj-ed the Indians as a 2uard, 
furnishing them with the necessary ammunition, and giving them 
instructions how to conduct themselves for the common safety 
in this time of imniinent danger. So faithful were they, that 
they not only rejected the strong and repeated solicitations of the 
the natives on the Main, but when any landed from it, in obe- 
dience to the orders which had been given them, they carried 
them, though some of them were their near relations, before the 
Governor to attend his pleasure. The English, convinced by 
these proofs of the fumness of their friendship, took no care of 
their own defence, but left it entirely to the Indians; and the 
storm of war which raged on the continent was not suffered to 
approach, but these islands enjoyed the calm of peace. This 
was the genuine and happy effect of Mr, Mayhew's wisdom, and 
of the introduction of the christian religion among the Indians. 
" By the charter of William and IMary, which arrived in 



THE CLERGY. 37 

IG92, these islands were taken from New-York, and annexed 
toMasaacliusetts. During the season of anarchy and confusion 
which preceded this event, the Indians behaved in a peaceable 
manner ; and on one occasion in particular forbore to resent 
the injuries which were inflicted on them by some of the Eng- 
lish who were unrestrained by law and government." 

In Edgartown there are two excellent private 
schools, and upon the Island there are twelve or 
thirteen places of worship. Four of these are in 
Edgartown, several in Holmes' Hole, and the re- 
mainder scattered here an d there] for the conven- 
ience of the scattered population. Of course there 
are not Clergymen connected with all of them, 
though there are several in each of the villages. 
Th ere are three in Edgartown, a Baptist, Metho- 
dist, and Orthodox Congregationalist. The Baptist 
is a missionary and preaches but occasionally in E. 
Their salaries vary from 3 to 500 dollars at most. 
Five hundred dollars however on the Island are as 
good as seven on the main. The Islanders ar« 
kind to their Clergymen and relieve them of some 
expenses they would be subject to elsewhere. Their 
generosity manifests itself in one item especially — 
that of riding — which can hardly be considered an 
expense here, for it is seldom, if ever, they can be 
induced to take compensation. It was my good 
fortune to become acquainted with the clergymen 
of the several denominations, and it is no more than 
justice to say — though,doubtles3,as strongly attach- 
ed to their peculiar views as those who bear the same 
name in other parts of the country; they were courte- 
4 



38 THE OLDEST CHURH. 

ous and friendly. There was an air of openness and 
kindness about them ihat seemed to me rather uncom- 
mon, and i)ut me almosi immediately at my ease with 
them. In intelligence, manners and conversation, as al- 
so in their preaching, for I seized upon several oppor- 
tunities of hearing them,they differ little from preach- 
ers in other parts of this State. The time and occa- 
sion of my first acquaintance wiih ihem were the 
Fourth of July and a pul)iic dinner In celebration 
thereof, to whicli (thanks to the Island patriots) we 
were severally invited. This memorable occasion 
must receive a passing notice hereafter. Yours. 



LETTER VII. 

Martha's Vineyard, 18 — . 

Mr. Editor : — Having been absent some little 
time, my communications have been necessarily in- 
terrupted. With your favor I hope to send one or 
two more ere they are brought to a close. 

The oldest church in Edgartown is that consecra- 
ted by the long and faithful ministry of Mr. Thaxter. 
He was of the liberal school in Theology, was pas- 
tor of the Society about forty-seven years, and lived 
to be silvered over with age, not being gathered to 
his fathers until he had reached the patriarchal peri- 
od of more than four score years. He devoted him- 
self to the good of his country as well as the cause 
of his Master — serving as Chaplain in PrescoWs 



THE CHURCH-YARD AND PASTOR's GRAVE. 39 

Regiment during our revolutionary struggle. Many 
of your readers may recollect llie ancient and ven- 
erable man as lie apjjcaretl al d)C laying of the cor- 
ner-stone of the Bunker-Hill Monument, when he 
stood up in the presence of an assembled host and 
offered a simple, fervent, and patriotic prayer. But 
to return to the Church. It was built in 1768. 
Tlie style of architecture — to frame a new order — 
is Quaker. It is situated a little out of die village 
and is the first object, when approaching it, that at- 
tracts p.ttention. li is of large dimensions and with- 
out a steeple. No part is painted hut the roof, which 
is of brick color. Of course with its broad paint- 
less sides, relieved only by its leddish roof, it has a 
somewhat grave and sombre aspect. This speci- 
men of anli(|uity rears its venerable form in the cen- 
tre of an oblfMig enclosure ol" considerable extent, 
all of which with die exception of a path from the 
gate to die Church-door is occupied w<ili graves, 
headstones, andm()numont->of various forms, dimen- 
sions and appearance. Many a.Te of the purest and 
most brilliantly white marble, whose letters are en- 
graved so distincdy and perfectly that, it would 
seem, ihey must defy the eflacing finger of time. 
These imjiart to this dweiling-])lace of the dead a 
cheerful rather ihan a gloomv asjiect. The vener- 
able Pa^ior of the T(,vvn reposes in the rear of the 
Church just beneath .lie window of that pulpit in 
which he served his Maker for such a succession of 
years. A vvceping-willow waves gracefully over a 



40 THE SANCTITY OF THE PLAGE. 

marble monument erected to his memory by his 
children. At one extremity of the enclosure is a 
straw-colored hearse-house — neat and appropriate | 
— -recently built by a benevolent widow, daughter of 
the departed worthy Pastor. This spot is the ©b- 
jcct of sacred affections — of many sad as well as 
sweet remembrances to her soul. Not a broken 
pane of glass, nor a loose stone in the foundation of 
the old Church escapes her eye. It is never suf- 
fered to go to decay, and its hallowed precincts 
though seldom trod, (for there has been no regular 
jireaching for the past nine years) are swept by her 
own hands some three times every twelvemonth 
and preserved sweet and clean. The strength and 
sanctity of the associations which many an aged man 
and aged woman cherish towards this consecrated 
place, to which from early years on the Sabbath day 
they have gone up to worship the Most High, it is 
not for a stranger fully to comprehend. Still no 
one, however insensible, can approach this ancient 
pile and this city of the dead built up around it, where 
in a long line of generations ' the rude forefathers 
of the hamlet sleep,' without the deepest feelings of 
solemnity and veneration. 

The interior of the Church accords well with the 
exterior. All is simple and plain — in tlie taste of 
the Puritans. The front of the galleries and pulpit, 
with the sounding-board above, and the Deacons' 
seats below, are painted light blue. There is nought 
el^je but what wears its natural color. A. neat green 



FOURTH OF JULY 41 

curtain and a cushion of the like material adorn the 
Pulpit. The first Sabbath T entered the Church it 
was highly decorated with fir, spruce, and other ev- 
er-greens, reminding one of the tabernacles of old 
in the wilderness. The following day was the An- 
niversary of our national independence ; and in this 
place, on this sea-girt Island, it was to be celebrated. 
I was invited to participate not only in the dinner 
but in the other services, and to make my appear- 
ance on Monday morning at the Inn, there to meet 
the chief ones of the village and to join the proces- 
sion. One or two revolutionary patriots — revered 
wrecks of tempestuous times — were there. The 
affecting narrative which one of them gave of his 
sufferings and those af his comrades from hunger, 
thirst, chronic pains and rheumatisms, brought on by 
lying night after night on the cold ground without 
covering, caused many a tear to trickle down his 
weather-hardened and wrinkled cheek, and deeply 
moved the hearts of all present. He assured us we 
had no conception of the greatness of our blessings, 
and urged us with thrilling eloquence to be true to 
our country. The procession was shortly formed. 
The delegation from the place, the two school-mas- 
ters, and the four members of the clergy walked in 
its honored places, while two individuals bearing 
staffs on which floated our national banner led the 
way. We threaded several sandy streets beneath a 
sweltering sun — a solemn, pre-eminently noiseless 

train — without ' stirring fife or pealing drum.' Still 

4* 



42 AT EDGARTOWN. 

there was a music within, and our souls were pledg- 
ed to do our best to celebrate our country's glory, 
yes, literally pledged — full six of us — ihe Senator 
of Duke's County to pronounce the oration — the 
School-masters, one to re])eat the Declaration of 
Independence, the other to enliven us wid) the ef- 
fervescence of his poetical fancy — the oldest of 
the Clergy, who was a Baptist Missionary, to ad- 
dress the throne of the Almighty — the Trinitarian 
and Unitarian Ministers to perform an equal part, 
each to peruse in the best manner an original Hymn, 
and though last, not least, our Methodist brother to 
put the finale to the chapter of services and cere- 
mories by the solemn benediction. 

This sub-division of laljor was as it should be but 
it had a little touch of tlie amusing about it. We 
entered the church and took our seals amid the beau- 
ty, pride and patriotism of ibis simple, true-hearted 
people. All passed ofF cheeringly. The Oration 
was worthy of its author, and the Poem would have 
done credit to a practised and well-known hand at the 
art. This part of our duty done, we repaired to the 
Inn to partake of a generous dinner. Not a few mer- 
ry toasts were cracked and, though wine passed 
round, many abstained, and all rose from the table 
self possessed and undeceived d}ereby. A happier 
Independent day, not even in my boyhood, has it 
been my lot to enjoy. Of itself it was worth a trip 
to the Island. Perhaps a few extracts from the 
Poem may be interesting to your readers : — 



THE POEM. 43 

** Forever consecrated be the day, 
When freemen rose, and with heioic sway, 
Plucked tlie rich laurel from Brilnnnia's brow, 
And quelled that foe who ihougiil to rule us now \ 
When freeborn sons, who weie inured to loil, 
Charmed with ihe beauliea of Columbia's soil, 
Kose in fi-il mi^ht. in n:ania' pomp arrayed, 
Feared not their foes, but grasped the glci ming blade. 
Though Brilain's lion gave a iiideous roar, 

Columbia's Eagle diove him fom ihe slio e. 
* * * « « 

He led our Joshua ihiough the tented fie'd, 

And spiead in front his ever'asiing shield. 

MethinUs I hear our patriot faihers cry, 

*' We will be free, or in the fie'd we'll die." 

Eo'd chivalry then flowed from heart lo heavt, 

And fi.ed their souls with more tlion magic art ; 

When Britain's king gave forih the stern command — 

•' Go conquer and subdue that rebel land ;" 

Columbia's sons then rose wilh feailess might, 

They grasped the sword, lliev hnslened to the fight, 

Their work they left, ihey ceased (o trace '.lie plough 

Bushed to the field where richer laurels grow. 

There honored fame shill meet her justapplause, 

There patriot sons repel pernicious laws ; 

There freeborn men demand an equal right, 

And dare lUeir foes upon the field of fight. 
***** 

Columbia, pause ! waep o'er th' illusuious dead ! 
Who fought for freedom, and to con(iuesl led ; 
Who dared the tempest, who the storm defied, 
But who now rests by Vernon's rolling tide. 
Here no proud abbey boasts the exclusive praise, 
Nor c'aims the relics of my feeble lays ; 
Nor shall the poppy fix its drowsy root, ,\'^] 

Nor wormwood thrive, nor bearded thistle shoot 
Around the grave where myriads oft repair, 



44 THE POEM. 

To view the spot where lay their country's sire. 

To sing his worth the muse has tuned her lyre, 

To speaU his praise the poets of aspire ; 

Faint the description, feeble the design. 

Should Pindar sing, or Homer trace the line. 

The pointer's canvass often has been spread, 

To draw descriptions of th' illustrious dead, 

But far they'd deviate from th' intended line. 

Should Raphael's genius sketch the bold design : 

Or should Titian his bright colors shed, 

Or Guido's graces lavish on his head, 

His deeds of valor memory still retains, 

Reveres the man who burst a tyrant's chains. 

Let other nations of their Coesars boast, 

Of Charles, of Xerxes with his martial host, 

Can INIacedonia ask the muses' lyre, 

While slaughtered millions round her chief expire ? 

"Can Rome and Carthage call her heroes good. 

While earth is crimsoned with their soldiers' blood ? 

Can France exalt the deeds of Bonaparte, 

And sing his splendor and his warlike art 1 

When, see ! ah see ! her hero rode to fame 

O'er seas of blood and mangled heaps of slain. 

But fates unseen reined up the mystic car — 

Smote Europe's zone and burst Napoleon's star. 

And where is he who came from Gallia's shore. 

Saw our oppression, heard our cannon roar ; 

Who wreathed a chaplet of immortal fame, 

And richly won a philanthropic name ? 

He, too, has gone to join his brave compeers, 

Graced with high honors, crowned with many years. 

And whereareGREEN,MoNTGOMERY,LEE andGAXEs; 

Who bowed the lion to resistless fates ? 

They, too, are gone : and but a few remain, 

Who helped our fathers burst Britannia's chain. 

And soon the muffled drum or tolling bell, 

Will-i>id the last a lojig, -a long iarewell! 



THE POEM. 45 

Ye aged sires ! who grace this festive scene^ 
Who bow to age, and o'er your staves recline, 
Review that day, when proud oppression's wand 
Extended wide o'er freedom's happy hind ; 
Can you forget the piteous piles of slain 
On Bunker's height, or Lexington's broad plain ? 
Tell to the youth the stories of our wars. 
And plead the merits of our patriots' scars. 
Ye patriot band ? whofought in days of yore. 
And drove the oppressor from our verdant shore. 
Long life and health, the sons of freedom cry. 
Long life and health, the winds of heaven reply. 
When summoned by ih' archanfjcl's thrilling call, 
On young Elishas may your mantles fall ; 
May patriot zeal your youthful sons inspire. 
And each prove worthy of his honored sire. 
***** 

Rise, Bethlehem's star ! beam forth with charms divine. 

O'er pagan lands let thy refulgence shine ; 

Let pure devotion touch the Hindoo's heart. 

And from his idols may he soon dc[.art ; 

From heathen lands may songs of triumph rise, 

To Him who built Earth, Ocean , Air and Skies. 

May distant islands catch the heavenly flame. 

And tawny Indians own Jehovah's name. 

On wings of faith ye heralds of the cross, 

Go and refine the gold from nature's dross ; 

Instruct the heathen from the sacred Word, 

*' Lead them from nature up to nature's God." 
* * * * * 

While on this day our cheerful hearts unite, 
While songs of joy inspire us with delight ; 
While liberal laws adorn our happy land, 
And pure devotion makes our hearts expand, 
Let us review the purchase of our fame, 
Our Patriots' honor and our 'J'orics' shame. 
Say was our freedom with a trifle bought 1 



4G THE POEM. 

That Patriots bled, say does it matter not? 

View Bunker's heights, and Charlestown's flaming spires 

View IMonnionth's plains, where fell our houcred sires; 
***** 

Then since our land was bought with streams of blood, 
F'rm let us stand though tyrants round us brood ; 
Thoujii round us kings their hellish gambols play, 
As venomed vipers hiss around their prey, 
Let us support the standard of our fame, 
Nor sink, like Rome, mid whirlpools of her shame. 
Ask, where is Rome, and where her war'ikeband, 
\Vhose armies spread and conquered every land ; 
Whose eagle rose and eyed the solar fire. 
With taloris strong, with wings that never lite, 
Whose classic charms inspire us with delight, 
Il'ume the rcwioiis of barbaric night. 
Ask you the cause why Ron)e's republic fe'i ? 
'^ he cause I'd ask, why Satan did rebel ? 
Factions burst forlh and demagogues arose, 
Crashed ihe fair tree, oerwhelmed the land iu woes. 
Thus Rome's republic, which forages stood, 
Fell mid ihe flames^ and sunk i'l seas of blood. 
As*., where is Carthage, Afric's pride and boast ? 
When faclions rose, her fame and all were lost ; 
Oceans of b'ood were spilt along her shore, 
A id A flic's glory set to rise no more. 
And Greece, that land where science shed her rays. 
Where heroes fought, where poets tuned their lays, 
Was veiled in gloom, and sunk before the blast. 
Her fame, her glory, and her grandeur past. 
But may that morning soon salute the skies, 
When Grecian glory shall again arise. 
When Grecian bards shall sing fair freedom's songs. 
And independence thunder from their tongues. 
***** 

Columbians, rise — mark well the fatal coast. 
Where sunk republics and their glory lost ; 



THE POEM. 47 

And shun those locUs whicli proved their final doom, 

And sunk their fame beneath Egyptian gloom. 

Let the lost 'egacy ofVVashi.igton, 

Still be your charl and sliow ihe course lo run; 

And may our helmsman witli a steady hand, 

Guide safe our bark o'er shoals of rock and sand. 

Should civil wa.s or base contentions rise, 

Sliould haughty iyrants freedom's charms despise, 

Ye yonlhfiil bond, rush, rush inlo the fie'd, 

With sword in hand, and make liiose deapots yield. 

Quell your invaders — put your foes to flight — 

March to the field and breast the deadly fight. 

Were Homer's verse familiar to my tongue. 

Or had I strains like those which Pindar sung, 

And could my voice like Sinai's thunder roar, 

Fair Freedom's charms should sound from shore to shore, 

Till tkronesof despots totter to the ground, 

And mighty empires tremble at the sound. 

And may that God, whose hand the lightnings form, 
Who hurls the tempest, who directs the storm ; 
Who bade the world from nature's embryo rise. 
Whose wisdom built, whose fiat starred the s'.ies ; 
At whose command the nations rise and fa)', 
Wh«se will directs, whose power governs all ; 
May lie extend the sceptre of his love. 
Our strong defence, our mighty bulwark piove. 
Almighty God I protect this fivored land. 
Guide, guard, and shield it by thy sovereign hand ; 
While sun's arise, or briny oceans roar, 
Or bounding billows lash the rock-bound shore : 
Let this Republic evei* stand secure. 
Till nations cease and lime shall be no more.'"* 

Certain four-footed, shorl-legged, taper-nosed, 
squirrel-tailed, black and white, unsavoiy creatures, 
the name of which it would be useless to mention 
after so minute description, have been frequent 



48 UGLY TENANTS. 

attachees of the barn-yards and houses ot the Island- 
ers. They fared so well, became so populous aud 
formidable, committed such extensive devastations, 
and withal got at length into such bad odour with the 
good-hearted, pure-minded people of Edgartown, 
that a bounty of 25 cents was offered for every one 
that should be despatched to that 'bourne whence 
no traveller returns.' They disappeared rapidly 
and became so rare and seldom troublesome that 
some were half ready to lament their loss, and al- 
most wished their old and misused friends back 
again : 

TCoOog xai xaxajy uq ifv rtc, 

xal vdg o /urjdafid d^j cpilov rfv (pilov, 

[CEdipus Tyrannus.'] 

Such persons were conscious of a change, a want. 
They felt that all was not right, and began to con- 
template their violent extermination with emotions 
of melancholy regret, similar to those cherished to- 
wards the unhappy Indian tribes. These animals 
differ considerably in their tastes, some conceiving 
an attachment to private, others to public buildings, 
some to house-cellars, others to barns, sheds, &c. 
There is one however whose taste is somewhat dif- 
ferent from that of his tribe. His predominant sen- 
timent, or biggest bump is veneration. He has been 
for years a strong adherent to the church. He has 
no occasion to repair to its sacred enclosure one 
day in seven, for he is seldom anywhere else. The 
undisturbed sanctity of the j^lace seems to have for 



A TARTAR. 49 

him peculiar attractions. Now and then he has 
made excursions into the neighborhood to disturb 
the pure and fragrant enjoyment of some pleasant 
hamlet. Generally he has made choice of the prem- 
ises of a certain Captain around which he has 

diffused the atmosphere of his peculiar genius with 
so much generosity, and produced thereby such a 
pungent, irritating action upon the martial temper as 
well as olfactories of the commander, as to rouse him 
to a well-appointed and vigorous attack upon the in- 
truder. Success has generally attended the bold 
and perilous enterprize of the Captain against this 
annoying and odious tenant. The Church has been 
his most quiet abode — his city of refuge. The 
pulpit, as it were, his citadel ; for beneath it has 
been his place of rest. Here he has revelled in 
sweets all his own, and yet not all his own, for ma- 
ny unfortunates have been compelled to participate. 
He is a most unwelcome guest. It is not that he 
is ever seen ; it is not that he is ever heard ; but 
he is most sensibly perceived — as the horse snuf- 
fsth the battle from afar — how sensibly, let those 
bear witness who have had expeiience. He is an 
old covenanter. He was a pretty regular attend- 
ant upon die ministry of the departed. The honest 
Town's people, born and bred in the purest of at- 
mospheres, have been wrought at times to a high 
pitch of excitement and justifiable indignation. 
Tongues have been busy and loud ; resolutions have 
been passed by large majorities ; downright andvig- 



50 HARD CATCHING ONE. 

orous measures have been takan ot expel the enemy. 
By the assistance of boys hired to creep through the 
loopholes of the granite underpinning, and with long 
sticks to explore the broad ground-plot of the sa- 
cred edifice, he has been forced to retreat with loss; 
whether a gain to the pursuers may be a matter of 
doubt. His hole w^as once discovered beneath the 
flight of stairs that leads to the galleries. He was 
furnished with leave of absence and his nest bounti- 
fully tarred. Had he been taken in propria perso- 
nUj there is no doubt he would have been treated 
by the enraged or highly incensed Islanders as a 
genuine abohtionist, and not allowed to escape but 
with a full suit of tar and feathers. He is again in 
possession of his redoubt, bnt has taken a less preg- 
nable position — beneath the pulpit and the dea- 
cons' seats. When I left the Vineyard, he remain- 
ed triumphant over all opposition, more redolent 
and devoted to the Church than ever. What may 
be bis fortune hereafter, or that of generations yet to 
come who may assemble in this place of worship, 
I am not prophet enough to foretell. 

Yours. 



REV. JOSEPH THAXTER. 5/ 

LETTER VOL 

Martha's Vineyard, IS — . 

Mr. Joseph Thaxter, to whom I alluded in 
my last letter, was born in Iliiigham in the year 
1744. He was in youth a cooper by trade. It is 
reported of him that in consequence of good luck in 
the purchase of a lottery ticket he was induced to 
prepare himself lor college. He entered Cam- 
bridge and was graduated in '63. Either before or 
after his Collegiate course he tau2:ht school in his 
native town and went by the title of Master Thax- 
ter or Master Jo. Though he subsequently made 
some advance in the study of medicine, he did not 
give himself to its practice. Divinity became his 
favorite pursuit and profession. He commenced 
preaching in 1771 — and remained faithful to the cause 
of his Master until removed by death in 1327, a pe 
riod of fifty -six years. In '76, he entered the army 
as a chaplain. His commission to fill this station is 
an interesting document : ■ — 

COMMISSION. 

The Council of the Colony of Massachusetts Bay to 
Joseph Thaxter, Gentleman^ Greetiicg. 

We being informed of your exemplary life and manners, and 
reposing especial trust in your abilities and good conduct — do, 
by tbese presents, constitute and appoint you, the said Joseph 
Thaxier, to be Chaplain of the Regiment whereof John Robert- 
son Esq. is Colonel, rai.^ed by this Colony to reinforce the 
American Army until the first day of April next. You are 
therefore carefully and diligently to inculcate on the minds of 
the soldiers of said Regiment, as well by example as precept, 



52 chaplain's COMMISSION". 

the duties of religion and morality, and a fervent love to iheir 
country, and in all respects to discharge the duty of a Chaplain 
in said Regiment, observing from time to time such orders and 
instructions as you shall receive from your superior officers ac" 
cording to military rules and discipline established by the Amer- 
ican Congress, in pursuance of the trust reposed in you, for 
which this shall be your sufficient u'arrant. 

Given under our hands and the seal of the said Colony at Wa- 
tertown, the twenty-third day of Jan. 1776, in the sixteenth 
year of the reign of his Majesty King George the Third. 

By Command of the Major part of the Council, 

Perez Morton, R. Secretary, 

At the commencement ot the revolution, on the 
19th April, '75, before his appointment as Chaplain, 
he was at Concord bridge. Durirg the war he was 
present as Chaplain at Cambridge and White Plains, 
on the North Riv^er, and in New-Jersey until March 
'71. In '80, he became Pastor of the Church in 
Edgartown. His salary was originally £100. In 
the latter part of his life it was reduced to ^275. 
There has been some difference of opinion particu- 
larly on the Vineyard, as to the religious 
views of Mr. T. He was unquestionably liberal. 
To verify this assertion beyond a doubt a few pas- 
sages will be subjoined, taken here and there from 
his discourses, of which he wrote some twenty- 
five hundred : 

" Those^who make .Tesus Christ and the great eternal Jeho- 
vah the Same being, take away niy Saviour — I cannot find him 
in their books — but I bless God I can find Ilim in my Bible." 

**To think well of his nature is necessary to the dignity and 
happiness of man. There is a decent pride which is congenial 
to vii'tye. That conscionsness of ionatp dignity which showa 



EXTRACTS FROM II IS SCRMONS. 53 

'liim the glory of his nature will be hid be<t protection from the 
meanness of vice. Where this consciousness is wanting, there 
can be no sense of morul honor, and consequently none of the 
higher principles of action. What can you expect from hiiu 
who says it is his nature to bo mean and selfish ^ and who can 
doubt that he who thinks thus, thinks from the experience ofhij? 
own heart, from the tendency of his own inclinations. Let it 
always be remembered, that he wIjo would persuade men to be 
good, ought to show them that they arc great. We may ven- 
ture to afiirm that a bad heart and a truly philosophic head have 
never been united in the same individual. Vicious inclinations 
not only corrupt the heart, but if indulged^ darken the under- 
ttanding, and in this way had lo false reasoning. Virtue alone 
it on the side of truth. A'o m^n will take pains to practice vir- 
tue who has not a high sense of the dignity of his nature, and 
the worth of his precious and immortal soul. The more we 
contemplate the dignity of man as a rational and immortal being, 
the higher sense we shall have of the worth of our souls, and 
the greater and the more irresistible will be cur motives to the 
practice of virtue and religion. We shall fear to degrade our- 
selves by base and vile actions. It is the practice of piety and 
virtue that dignifies and exalte human nature. It gives the mind 
an elevation above the vain and empty pleasures of this vain and 
transitory life. It raises it to contemplate scenes of future bliss 
in the heavenly world, where disrobed of mortality, the rough 
passions, and craving appetites that now war against our happi- 
ness, we shall be raised to the highest dignity, partake of angel- 
ic joys and drink of rivers of pleasure that flow at God's right 
hand forevermore." 

" May I never be led to judge a brother or send him to hell 
for what I may think an error. He may be right and I wrong. 
Let the error be on which side it may, he that judgeth is guilty of 
a much greater error, by a wilful violation of the law of Christ." 

Oct. 9th, 1772. "In the beginning God mude min in his 
own Image, that is, in a small degree of similitude ; for he was 
created a free, rational, moral agent, and was exempt from the 
pollution of sin and guilt. He had an immortal soul, furnished 



54 HIS INDUSTRY.. 

with noble Aiculties and powers, but being left to act freely, he 
fell from his original rectitude, not by a fatal necessity, nor by a 
decree that he should fall. For if it was, then man could not, 
had it notm his power to stand, and if so, then, he could not 
be blame-worthy, or condemned therefor. If man fell by a fa- 
tal necessity he was nothing more than a machine or instrument, 
and these are not chargeable with the actions which are done 
with them. The agent that exercises the instrument is charge- 
able with the action ; for example, the knife with which a man 
is stabbed is not guilty of murder, but the man who made use of 
it is justly chargeable with the crime. So then if man fel' 
through necessity he could not be guilty, but that power which 
laid him under the uecessity, which could be no other than his 
Creator, which is making God the author of sin, which is con- 
trary to his being and perfections. For God to be the author of 
sin, would be to destroy himself. I trust there are none pres- 
ent who wonld be so weak and profane as to charge God as 
■being the author of the sins which are committed by them. No- 
Let God be just but every mm a liar." 

Mr. T. was a very Industrious man. He not on* 
\y wrote his twenty-five hundred sermons — which 
one would think enough for a man to do in the 
course of ahTe however long — but beside the oth- 
er avocations of a minister, as he told a friend, ' he 
did one fifth of tha work of his house from the bot- 
tom of the cellar to die top of the chimnies, made 
his own water-pails and even hollowed the staves 
with a bent razor.' 

He was in the habit for many years, of walking 
from E. to Holmes' Hole, a distance of eight miles, 
to preach a lecture on Sunday evenmg, and of cross- 
ing to the Island of Chappequiddick one evening of 
.each week for a like purpose. 



SIMHPLICI'TY OF LIFE. 00 

At one time he was tlie only clergyman and phy- 
sician on the Island. Mr. T. resd much, especial- 
ly in the ancient tongues. His Greek, Testament 
he perused every day. His counsel to young cler- 
gymen was — always consult your Greek Testa- 
ment hefore you sit down to wiite a sermon. When 
it is considered that he was ever subject to parox- 
ysms of sickhcad-ache and was rendered useless 
by their frequency and severity for no less than a 
t fourteenth part of his whole life — six entire years 
— it must be acknowledged that he accomplished 
wonders. Incredible as it may seem, he was absent 
from his pulpit but five Sabbaths on account of sick- 
ness through his whole ministry of forty-seven years. 
He must have led a very simple life, if his practice 
accorded with his preaching, for it was a maxim of 
his, that ' brown bread and black (i . e. bohea) tea 
were good enough for ministers.' Many pleasant 
anecdotes are related of Mr. T. some of which, as 
I have made a beginning, I will throw together in 
this connection as they have been communicated to 
me by those who best knew him. 

Years ago Dr. B. was on the Island. He and 
Mr. T. met and were introduced at the house of a 
mutual friend. 'This is Mr. Thaxtcr, educated at 
Cambridge and therefore, I conclude, a Unitarian,' 
said the Dr. 'I profess to be,' was the rcjily. 'Ve- 
ry sorry to hear it,' rejoined the Dr. 'Bad doc- 
trine. Sir, bad doctrine ; not Scriptural, Sir, not 
Scriptural.' 'This is Dr.Beecher fromConnecticut/ 



6() DR. BEECHEE. 

resumed Mr. T. 'and therefore,! conclude, a Trini- 
tarian. ' I hope so,' replied the Dr. ' Very sorry to 
hear it, 'rejoined Mr. T. ' Bad doctrine, Sir, bad 
doctrine ; not Scriptural, Sir, not Scriptural.' 

Dr. B. was very free with ^Ir. Thaxter and ask- 
ed him a great many questions about doctrinal sub- 
jects. 'Now,' says Mr.T.'I have answered you in 
the simplicity and integrity oi my heart and given you 
exactly my views on many points. I hope you will 
be as ready to answer some questions that I will put 
to you.' 'I will endeavor to,' replied the Dr. ' Can 
you tell me then what is the meaning of these words, 
' ye which have followed me in the regeneration, 
when the Son of man shall sit in the throne of his 
glory.' ' The Dr. paused and at length acknowledged 
— he could not tell. 'What,' said Mr. T. not un- 
derstand the meaning when the word is used here 
for the first time in Scripture and is the foundation 
of all your preaching ?' 'I never had any particular 
thoughts on this passage,' said the Dr. ' Never,' re- 
joined Mr. T. 'I am surprized.' Said the Dr. 'will 
you tell me what you think is the meaning ?' ' No,' 
sjr, was the reply, if you don't know, you had bet- 
ter go home and study your Testament. ' In conver- 
sation with him at this time or afterwards, Mr. T. 
used nearly these words : ' There are a few of my 
flock left about me — families which I have visited 
in sickness and sorrow — children, whom I have pre- 
sented in baptism at the altar and if you have come, 
said he, with strong emotion, to draw them away 



ANECDOTES. 57 

and embitter the days of an old man, you ought to 
hang your head for shame.' 

Some one on the Island dislocated his limb. Mr. 
T. who always had the reputation of being the best 
bone-setter on the Island, put it in place. ' What is 
to pay, asked his relieved patient.' He replied — 
' if rich — seventy-five cents ; if poor — nothing. ' 

A friend once asked him why he wrote such la- 
bored sermons, when his people would be satisfied 
with those far inferior. His reply deserves to be- 
written in letters of gold : ' Would you have uie go 
into the sanctuary with unbeaten oil or a worthless- 
offering ?' 

To a friend who was going out of town said Mr- 
T., ' you had better take your cloak. ''Why, Sir,' 
said his friend, 'it is fair weather.' 'Take your cloak 
m fair weather,' rejoined Mr, T.; ' any fool would 
take it in foul.' 

Speaking to his wife about his parishioners, h& 
said, ' If they give you anything, wife^ take it and 
thank them. If they offer me a fish, though I have 
plenty, I take it and thank them, and on my way 
home toss it into the first pool.' He used to say to 
himself : 'Be careful now Mr. Thaxter, and don't 
preach for money,' and he satisfied himself that he 
did not as he was quite as contented with a salary 
of $275 as with £100. 

One of the deacons of his church was asked by 
some individual what he thought of the weather — 
what he considered the prospect. 'I hardly know,.' 



5S BET^TEVOLENCE AND SUCCESS AS A PREACHER. 

replied the deacon, 'for I am not very weather-wise.' 
Mr..T. being in company, subjoined : 'No, nor much 
otherwise.'' 

Mr. Thaxter was a man of a good deal of natural 
eloquence and gifted in prayer. An evidence of the 
latter is a singular fact told me by one of his broth- 
ers in the ministry. He was present at an ordina- 
tion some where in the southern part of the State, 
and though not a member of the Council convened 
to take a part in the exercises, he was unanimously 
requested, contrary to all usage, to take that part 
which constitutes the essence of the rite, viz : the 
ordaining prayer. 

Mr. T. was a very benevolent man. I have been 
informed that not seldom he has got up at midnight 
and crossed to the Island of Chappequiddick to vis- 
it the sick, and that when he has been down in 
Town, (for he lived on the outskirts thereof) and 
filled his basket with vegetables and more substan- 
tial things, he has stopped on his return to see this 
and that family of his parish, and ere he has reached 
home many time has found his basket empty. 

Mr. Thaxter was settled as Pastor not only of a 
congregation, but of the Town. One would have 
no doubt of it from the size of the old Church. He 
was very successful in the ministry. The first year 
he added 53 to the Church and baptised 147. Af- 
ter some years however the unity and peace of his 
society were broken. The love for sects inherent 
in human nature occasioned the rise of several 



PRAYER AT CONSECRATION 69 

within his territorial Parish. All Israel however 
were not backsliders. Many clung to him as strong- 
ly as he clung to them. The simple annals of his 
ministry can afford of course but little variety. To- 
wards the latter part of his life, on the Seventeenth 
of June, 1825, he was present at the laying of the 
corner-stone of the Bunker-Hill Monument and of- 
fered a simple and solemn prayer of consecration- 
I have it in his very words, and send it to you, as 
n seems to me worthy of preservation. He was at 
this time over eighty hears of age : 

PRAYER. 

O, thou who rulest in the armies of Heaven and doest what- 
soever seeniesl to thee good among the cliildren of men below, 
we desire at this time to remember thy loving kindness to our 
pious ancestors in rescuing tliem from a land of intolerance and 
persecution. We thank tliee that thou didst conduct them in 
safety through the mighty deep to this then howling wilderness, 
that thou didst protect and defend them when few and helpless. 
We thank thee that, by thy blessing on their endeavors and 
labors, the wilderness was soon made to blossom like the rose. 
We thank thee that thou didst animate them with an invincible 
attachment to religion and liberty — that they adopted such wise 
institutions. We thank thee that they so early established our 
University, from which have flowed such streams as have made 
glad the cities of onrGod ; that thou hast raised up of our own 
sons, wise, learned, and brave to guide in the great and impor- 
tant affairs both of church and state. May thy blessing rest on 
that Seminary and continue it for a name and praise as long as 
sun and moon shall endure. We thank thee that by the wis- 
dom and fortitude of our fathers every attempt to infringe our 
rights and privileges were defeated, and that we were never in 
bondage to any. We thank thee that when our country was 
invgded by the armies of the mother country, thou didst raise 



60 OF BUN5CER-H1LL MONUMENT. 

up wise counsellors and nnshaken patriots, who at the risk of 
life and fortune not only defended our country, but raised it to the 
rank of a nation among the nations of the earth. We thank thee 
that thou hast blessed us with a constitution of government 
which, if duly administered, secures to all, high and low, rich 
and poor, their invaluable rights and privileges. We ask thy 
blessing on our President and Congress — on our Governors and 
Legislators, on our Judges and all our civil officers. IMakethem, 
we beseech thee, ministers of God for good to thy people. Bless 
the ministers of the Gospel and make them happy instruments 
tn thine hands of destroying Satan's kingdom and of building up 
the Redeemer's, We thank thee that in thy good providence 
we are assembled to lay the foundation of a monument, not for 
the purpose of idolatry, but a standing monument to the rising 
and future generations, that they may be excited to search the 
history of our country and learn to know the greatness of thy 
loving-kindness to our nation. May the service of this day be 
performed under the mostprofound aweofthy glorious Majesty 
and be an acceptable sacrifice. We thank thee for the unpar- 
alelled progress and improvement in arts and sciences, in agri- 
culture and manufactures, in navigation and commerce, where- 
by our land has become the glory of all lands. We thank thee 
that the light which came from the East, and has enlightened 
this Western world is now reflected back and that the nations 
of Europe are now learning lessons of wisdom from our infant 
nation. We pray thee th^it these rays may be spread and shine 
with greater power until the rod of oppression shall be broken 
through the whole world and all mankind become wise and free 
and happy. We humbly ask amd offer all ia the name of Jesus 
Christ, our great and glorious Mediator, through whom be glory 
unto God the Father now and forever — Amen. 

Not long after this event, in 1827, well stricken 
in years — the snow-white hairs of above four-score 
winters playing around his venerable head — he was 
taken hence like a shock of corn gathered in its sea- 



LIBERAL CHRISTIANITY. 61 

son. The highest praise can be awarded to Mr. 
Thaxter, that of being a good and holy man to the 
close of his lengthened life. He stood the test of 
our Saviour's ordeal, enduring unto the end. As he 
lived — so he died. His last words were memora- 
ble and inspiring. * My faith is unshaken, my hope 
is unclouded.' On the marble monument erected 
to his memory by his children it is beautifully said, 
' Full of the hope of a blessed immortality, he 
sweetly fell asleep in Jesus.' He has left an im- 
pression of himself that will not soon be obliterated. 
His virtues yet speak with eloquent effect : 
*' Ev'n in his ashes live their wonted fires." 



A few words more before I close this letter. 

It is a natural subject of mquiry what the prospect 
is for the formation of a liberal Society in Edgar- 
town. It has been observed tiiat there are but fif- 
teen hundred inhabitants in E. and already three So- 
cieties. Two of these may be said to be flourish- 
ing. Of course the prospect for another cannot be 
very encouraging. There are however a great ma- 
ny Unitarians in the place. Originally they were 
the parishioners of Mr. Thaxter, but since his death 
they have become joined unto idols. There are a 
few who have ever been ' faithful found among the 
faithless,' and they are some of the most respecta- 
ble and influential people in the place. These to- 
gether with a sprinkling from every denomination, 
Baptists, Methodists, Orthodox, and Universalists 



62 LIBERAL CHRISTIANITY. 

constituted my audience, in number an hundred and 
fifty. This was the consequence of holding the af- 
ternoon service at 3 o'clock and sometimes as late 
as 6, after the hour of tea — for every meal is serv- 
ed earlier in Edgartown than on the main ; in sum- 
mer, breakfast at 6, dinner at 12, and supper at half 
past 4 or 5. 

In Spring an effort will be made to rekindle the 
embers of what we consider the true faith and, 
whether very successful or not, a clergyman maybe 
sure of a fair support as long as he perseveres in the 
good cause. We hope they will not have reason 
to be discouraged and that Zion will arise, her light 
shme, and unto her many people be gathered. 

Here, Mr. Editor, I take occasion to thank you 
for your indulgence, and bring my communications, 
— unexpectedly become a series, — to a close. 

Yours. 



C3 

DOWN EAST. 

CHAPTER I. 

Gardiner — Ilalloicell — Jlu<rusta — Bangor, Its 
Climate — Character of the Inhabitants. A Ser- 
mon long enough in all conscience. Religieus 
JMeetings. Eastward in a Packet. Gloucester 
— its beauty seen jrom the Bay. Great Disap- 
ment. Adventure on an Island in Portland liar- 
bar. A Stone Church at Sea. Hard Luck. 

In the fall of 1S33, I made my first excursion 
down East. My first point of destination was Gar- 
diner on the Kennebec. I had been informed that 
a preacher was much wanted in this place and had 
been urged to go and see what could be done for the 
formation of a liberal Society. Accordingly I took 
letters of introduction and went down. Every as- 
surance had been given that there would be no lack 
of heart, or means. By the advice of those who 
best know what advice to give, I took up my abode 
at the public house of the Town. Here I remain- 
ed for several weeks — preaching one Sabbath eve- 
ning in the Episcopal church — the next in the 
Methodist — afterwards during the day in the Lyceum 
Hall, and always to respectable audiences. I made 
many acquaintances, visited much, and was very 
hospitably treated. Much interest, I was led to be- 
heve, had been excited in the cause of liberal Chris- 
tianity, hut in consequence of the strong influence 
exerted by a single Episcopalian family of muck- 



64 GARDINER BANGOR. 

worth, not an individual could be found who had 
courage enough to put himself foremost in the cause 
of what he believed to be truth. Perceiving what 
turn things would take, or rather that they would take 
no turn, but remain as they were, wisdom sugges- 
ted to me to settle up my bills for board, room, f:re, 
attendance, et cetera, before they mounted up be- 
yond my reach, and betake myself to another sphere. 
This I did at once, carrying with me this morceau 
of useful experience, that though the ' workman may 
be worthy of his meat * he does not always get it, 
and that there is such a thing as ' going a warfare 
at one's own charges. ' Passing through those lovely 
Towns on the beautiful Kennebec — Hallowell and 
Augusta — my next point of destination was Bangor, 
where I remained four weeks. 

Bangor is not a very striking city. I describe it 
with its latest Improvements having been there with- 
in a few months. It is situated on either bank of 
the Kenduskeag (a river emptying into the Penob- 
scot) and on the western bank of the latter. The 
Banks of the Kenduskeag are bold and precipitous, 
and as slippery after a rain as soft clay can make 
them. The streets are irregular and the houses, 
with a few exceptions, display no particular architec- 
tural taste. Formerly they were here and there 
and everywhere, 'and had the appearance, as was 
quaintly said by some one, of having been shaken 
from a pepper-box. Of late there has been much 
improvement. 



CHARACTER OF THE INHABITANTS. G5 

The first day I was there — the Sabbath — in- 
quired after the state of the Thermometer and learned 
to my astonishment that it was 10 below zero. This 
circnmstance howeveir is not worthy of notice. It 
is the trifle of trifles. For the mercury has the fin- 
est of sport here. Its race-course is the longest in 
the States. In the Summer it runs to 96 degrees 
or more above, and in Winter to 39 degrees below 
zero. The evening air is fearfully penetrating. A 
smart gymnastic trot was the only expedient by 
which I could keep myself from being chilled to ice. 

The Bangoreans arc intelligent, enterprising and 
ambitious as every body knows. They are gener- 
ous and hospitable. They make money without 
much effort, and spend it freely. Light come —- 
light go. They are fond of display. The chasten- 
ed and refined tastes of some of the older cities, 
Boston and Philadelphia, have not yet been reached. 
This is not to bo expected in a city of sudden 
growth. Though this remark is true of the city as 
such, there are many well educated, polished, and ex- 
cellent families. The social circle, however, is yet in 
an unformed, unamalgamated state. Reader, have you 
never been to this city of the East ? There is a 
spectacle you have yet to witness — a Bangorean 
riding through the streets. To say that he rides 
faster than the Bostonian, New-Yorker, or Phila- 
delphian, would be saying little — would ho doing 
him manifest injustice. His velocity has not yet 
been calculated. You must get a glimpse of him 
0* 



CG A LONG SERMON. 

^s be |,a-;sps you, if you can, and jtiilge for yourself. 
The BanL:;orej!ns aie pioud of iheir ciiy, and indeed 
tliey deserve uuicli credit for their unexampled en- 
terprize and unwearied energy. Still one cannot 
but think they are inclined to cherish an overween- 
ing estimate of themselves. They have been in- 
toxicated, and no wonder they should be, with un- 
exampled success. They will however grow sober 
betimes, if they have not become so already. 

The Lyceum could not be made to flourish a few 
years ago. It is otherwise now I believe. This 
small fact is an indication of some re-action from en- 
lire absorption in business in favor of intellectual cul- 
tivation, and attention to science and literature. 

The first week I was in the city my mind was 
much perplexed tipon the subject of the Atonement 
to which I had devoted more attention than usual. 
The more I studied, the more obscure and unsatis- 
factory were my views. After unwearied examina- 
tion and reflection, my anxiety was relieved towards 
the close of the week, and it occurred to me that it 
would be an useful eflx>rt to preach an extempora- 
neous sermon on the subject, the afternoon of the 
approaching Sabbath. I prepared myself, putting 
on paper a few notes to help my memory, and when 
the hour arrived went into the desk, fearing I should 
be brought to a full stop in a very few minutes. But 
let the consequence be what it might, my determi- 
nation was fixed to trust myself (and it was the first 
time) to a few scanty notes. I began. My sub- 



RKLIGIOUS MEETINGS. 67 

ject, as I proceederl, enlarged before my vision. It 
had occupied my attention so much tlie previous 
week and I felt the importance of it so deeply that, 
11 ever, I was then enthusiastic. The passage of 
time I did not realize. The current of my thoughts 
flowed on — on — until the short dav of Winter be- 
gan to decline. Some went to the Post-Office and 
returned with letters and papers. Ladies' gloves, 
accidentally dropped uj)on the pew floor, could not 
be discovered in the darkness that began to gather 
fastand thick. This latter fact I do not take u[ion 
me to vouch for, having received it by tradition 
from others. One thing, however, I can vouch for, 
that the homily, for godly length, would have done no 
discredit to a full bottomed wig of the last century, 
measuring an hour and twenty minutes. Some af- 
firmed it a deal longer — near two hours. But kind 
reader, be\Aare how you believe everything that ev- 
erybody says. You have my word for it that th s is 
an extravagancy, a foul aspersion, a hyperbolical vi- 
tuperation of the Bangoreans. However I never 
expect to hear the last of my ' Bangor Sermon,' as 
it is called. 

During the four weeks I remained in the city, re- 
hgious meetings were held in one church or another 
the whole time — night and day. Some diseases 
prevailed extensively and created considerable 
;?larm, erysipelas and puerperal fever. By these 
many were sent to their long home, and clerical du- 
ties became somewhat trying. The religious meet- 



GS EASTWARD IN A PACKET. 

ings,I unflerstood, originated, in part, in consequence- 
ol the fatality of these complaints. Liberal Chris- 
tianity, notwithstanding much opposition, was flour- 
ishing and has continued to flourish more and more. 
— On the whole there is much to like in tlie Ban- 
gorcans, and their thriving city. 

My return to Boston and, after a few months, | 
second visit to the East, furnish notliinz of interest. 
^ly third visit however must not be passed over in 
silence. Havii g heretofore tried other modes of ' 
journeying I was [)ersuaded to try, with a friend, 
a passage in one of the best Belfast Packets — the 
Comet. With such a name, no wonder we were i 
templed within the sphere of its influence ^and c(tn^ht i 
within its sweeping trail. We expected of course 
to leave the steamboat an infinite distance in the 
rear ; to advance with a velocity hardly to be 
brought within the limits of measurement. Our 
freight was the fall and winter goods of eastern tra- 
ders, and our passengers some thirty in number. 
The wind had been contrary for a week, and the 
passengers who, almost every hour of every day, 
went down the wharf to talk with tlie Capt. about 
starting, had become extremely uneasy, and at length 
were for putting out— wqnd or no wind. The 
Captain reasoned with them, and refused for a Ipng 
time, but unfortunately after much solicitation yield* 
ed ; and now behold us at sunset — our anchors 
weighed and sails set — going out of Boston Har- 
bor ! The Captain saw no prospect of a wind^byt 



AN UNCOMFORTABLE NIGHT. 69 

the passengers thought the wind must to a certainty 
have nearly blown itself out, and would veer short- 
ly. — 7 o'clock. The city vanished — the shndes 
of night all around us — the starred robe of Heaven 
unrolled and flinging an uncertain light upon our 
path — the ship under full sail and with a smart 
breeze dashins: with rapid course throush the dark 
and troubled waters. The old seaman at the helm 
as tranquil as the planet Jupiter. For myself — 
though I had been much on the water — not alto- 
gether so calm. Not seeing distinctly the ship's 
length ahead, what marvel if my fancy conjured up 
the dreadful scene of our being run down and in a 
moment sinking into the abyss of waters. That 
night was a disturbed, dismal night. Towards day- 
light, worn down with sleeplessness and anxiety, I 
resolved to get upon deck. The vessel rolled so 
awfully that I was nigh giving up in despair. At 
length I succeeded ; and now look around with me. 
Not a speck of land in sight — 80 miles from an- 
chorage — the wind still dead ahead and impetuous 
— the crested waves swelling to mountains' height 
and coming towards us, apparently, with fell intent 
to bury us forever' — our bark — the beautiful and 
rapid bird of the seas — bounding, quivering, and 
screaming in the blast — disappointment and doubt 
(but no fearfulness) marked on every countenance. 
A council was held upon the quarter deck and the 
result was to make tor the nearest and most conven- 
ient harbor, The sun had nearly descended the 



70 GLOUCESTER. 

horizon before we were greeted with the welcome 
sight of the port of Gloucester. From our position 
— two miles down the bay — it has an uncommonly 
fine appearance. Wearied and sick, having had 
nothing tliat could be called sleep, many of us anti- 
cipated a blessed night of repose upon terra-firma, 
in the motionless beds of a comfortable inn. We 
were in high spirits, but alas! how soon depressed 
ev^en lower than before ! The wind, without our 
knowledge, had changed to point more favorable, 
and the clouds that skirted the horizon rose up- 
wards and presented a broad track of golden light 
to the eye. The weather-wise captain saw not in 
vain. We stood gazing at the ranges of white houses 
and the various steeples of the Town. Shortly the 
w^ord was passed from one to another that we were 
going out to Sea. What so nigh the Town — 
able to see into its very streets — and running away 
from it ? We could not believe it. Our senses 
must be deceived. But it proved too true. Grad- 
ually the Town receded from us, and we could no 
more trace its streets, or count its dwellings. Some 
would have given anything to have landed upon ono 
of the islands in the harbor. Hut, no, our watch- 
word was onward^ and none of our regrets or com- 
plaints restrained the progress of our leaping bark. 
The night was more endurable than the last, but in 
the morning we perceived we had made little head- 
way. We were nearly opposite Old York. The 
wind proved light and continued so through the day 



ADVENTURE ON AN ISLAND. 71 

until night-fall, when a South-Easter with rain set 
in, and the old seannen said we must make a har- 
bor, as it would be dangerous to be out trying to 
find our way in such squally weather. So we lay 
our course for Portland. It was no easy thing to 
discover the lights amid such rain and darkness. 
At half past eleven o'clock we anchored three miles 
from the city under the lee of an island in the har- 
bor and about half a mile from the shore. The 
captain feared to go up to the wharfs lest he should 
run into some of the vessels. My companion and 
myself were not satisfied with being where we were. 
Though in calm water, we were in the vessel and 
must sleep in a birth with all its disagreeable associ- 
ations. We resolved to see if we could not per- 
suade the captain to put us on the shore of the island 
in the boat. We inquired if there was any place 
where we could get accommodations. He told us 
there was and that it was common for passengers to 
land for this purpose. Though the lain came down 
in torrents he ordered his boat to be manned. It 
was done. Our baggage was dropped in, and our- 
selves followed. We were soon at the beach, 
where we desired the seamen to remain until we 
went to a house, where we could see a light, to as- 
certain whether and where we could get lodging. 
We were obliged to scramble up an almost perpen- 
dicular clay bank of some fifty feet, covered with 
shrubs and briars, down which streams of water, in- 
finite in number, were running : 



72 GREAT DISAPPOINTMENT. 

•* Brook and brookling hurrying down." 

And such a scramble, with umbrellas in hand too! 
It seemed to me when I reached the summit, that 
there was no part of me from the crown of my head 
to the sole of my foot that had not received a thor- 
ough scratching. No sooner had we set foot upon 
the top of the bank than the taper seen in the cot- 
tage at a little distance was extinguished. It was 
now twelve o'clock, and we felt assured that all the 
inmates had retired. Conceive our disappointment. 
But what was to be done ? Rouse them ? 'T would 
be cruel. We looked about us and discovered at a 
distance a light. We made towards it, wading 
through high wet grass — crossing some swollen 
brooks — the rain unabated — until at length we 
were at the threshold. It proved a house of two 
stories, ancient and weather-beaten. We knocked. 
A grum, ruffian voice reached our ears from an in- 
ner apartment, sounding out in tones to make one 
shudder, ' Come in.' We would not trust ourselves 
until we saw our host — so knocked again — and 
were greeted in like manner. In a moment foot- 
steps were heard approaching. The door opened, 
and two persons presented themselves. By the 
light v^hich one of them brought we perceived 
they had a somewhat fearful aspect. Both were 
shaggily apparelled. One was of the middle size 
and, with his copper face and long black hair, had 
the look of an Indian. The other was tall and big 
every way — a brawny man with fiendish face — 



A BRACE OF RUFFIANS. 73 

evidently brutalized with excessive potations. Thej 
seemed to be alone in the house and, as it was Sat- 
urday night, had probably been deep in a carouse. 
They asked who we were, and where we came from, 
and how we came there. Having answered their 
questions, I asked them if there was an inn on the 
island. They said, No. Any place where stran- 
gers could be accommodated •'' No. They were 
vehemently urgent for us to come in. There was 
so much reason to suspect them of sinister designs 
that we declined. At length the fiercest of the two 
grasped with his hand the collar of my coat and 
would have me enter. But I resisted with all pos- 
sible decision. Why I was not alarmed I know not. 
My companion, who stood behind, pulled me by 
the coat, as much as to say, we had better be ofFas 
soon as possible. I told the rufllan to take his hand 
from my collar and, suiting the action to the word, 
jerked it forcibly off. Our backs were turned up- 
on them in an instant. A volley of oaths followed 
us at some distance, but in less than a trice we were 
down the bank and at the boat's side. We told the 
seamen we were disappointed and that they must 
row us to the vessel. We were glad to get back to 
our cabin again, but we kept our strange adventure 
a profound secret, answering no more questions 
than we were obliged to. 

We were soon informed that some of the ladies, 
presuming of course that we should not return, had 
taken possession of our berths. There seemed to 

7 



74 OBLIGING FRIENDS. 

be no alternative left but to throw ourselves upon 
the floor. Some of the passengers insisted upon 
our taking their berths, declaring that they did not 
wish to sleep, and, if they did, could get along as 
well on the floor as in the best berth. We accord- 
ingly accepted their berths and turned ourselves in 
more vvilh'ngly than we had any previous night, 
though expecting to while away the hours with un- 
easy slumbers and distempered dreams. Our obli- 
ging friends were better provided for than we imag- 
ined, for the ladies overhearing us, had retired to their 
own state-. ooms, leaving ours unoccupied. We pass- 
ed a tolerable night, doubtless owing to our exercise 
on the misty and mysterious Island. Awaking early 
we still heard the rain beating down upon the deck, 
and perceived that our vessel u'as in motion by the 
gurgling of the water along the sides. We soon as- 
certained that the captain was making towards the 
city. He anchored at some distance from the 
wharf, and those of us who wished to go ashore 
must take to the long-boat. We had been out three 
nights, and this day, Sunday, was the fourth since 
we left Boston. We went to the captain and told 
him that we had had quite enough of Packet-sailing 
and should now try our luck at land-conveyance. 
Having settled with him and bid adieu to our fel- 
lows, who meant to stick by, we got into the 
boat and were soon at the v/harf. The tread 
of our mother earth, or, I should rather say, our 
foot-prints in the deep mire conveyed sensations of 



A STONE CHURCH AT SE\. 75 

exquisite pleasure through our enfeebled frames. 
That day we attended service in Dr. N.'s church 
— but not to our unmixed enjoyment — for the 
church [seemed metamorphosed into a vessel and 
rolled from side to side as in a heavy sea. Though 
requested to preach, the effect of my voyage made 
it necessary for me to decline. The next day we 
started by land, but had a most wearing and peril- 
ous journey. It was the fall of the year, Novem- 
ber, and the roads of course in a very bad state. 
That from Augusta to Belfast, distant forty miles, 
was most execrable. The mud had been many 
inches deep and was now frozen solid. We must 
rise at three o'clock in the morning, get into a wag- 
on once covered, but now all in tatters, entirely 
0])en in front, and resting without springs upon the 
axle-trees. We fretted some, but to no purpose. 
Our driver could not bnt acknowledge the justice of 
our complaints. He was a young man, who had 
some good qualities, but whose highest attainment 
appeared to be an astonishing volubility in the use of 
profane language. Every crack of his whip was ac- 
companied by a smart oath to give it increased ef- 
fect. He beat his horses most unmercifully. His 
lash was off their backs scarce a minute at a time 
from the beginning to the end of the journey. Nev- 
er in my life did I suffer so much from hard jolting. 
As for sitting on the seat it wps out of the question. 
So I braced myself against the back and sides of the 
rehicle, and rode thus a good part of the way. Ere 



76 HARD LUCK. 

we had gone over half our course an aneurism was 
produced in a vein on my hand, which somewhat 
"alarmed me and was not reduced for many days. 
We reached Belfast some time in the afternoon, and 
were obliged to pay more for our passage than we 
should for the same distance in any other part of N. 
England. Reader, if you are ever caught down 
east, unless you wish to be beaten to a jelly, be shy 
of trusting yourself upon the Belfast road at three 
o'clock in the morning in the fall of the year. Rath- 
er than wind round a curve of some thirty-two miles 
— perhaps with no better success than we had just 
experienced — we prefened to step into the light 
and swift packet that crosses straight to Castine, but 
fifteen miles distant, which we reached after a short 
and pleasant run. 



CHAPTER II. 77 

Penobscot Bay. The old and trusty Pilot. Cos- 
tine Li^ht. Castine — its Sabbath itillne^s — 
Climate — Churches. Forts. Count of Castine. 
The Fort par excellence — View from the Ram- 
part. View from the Islands and the Heights of 
Brookville. Inhabitants of C*. — Character 
and Occupation. Things never to be forgotten. 

Belfast or Penobscot Bay is fifteen miles 
across, and extends to the open sea, distant thirty 
miles. Into it pour the broad waters of Penobscot 
River. On the North side is the town of Prospect, 
and near by rises into view the rounded outline of 
Brigadier's Island, with but one cleared spot amongst 
its deep forests. A few miles to the South is the 
headland of a long and narrow Island, partially 
wooded, running nine miles towards the sea and di- 
viding the Bay, as it were, into two broad and migh- 
ty rivers. On this are various settlements — the 
town of Isleborough, &:c. At the East and West 
extremities of the Bay lie Castine and Belfast ; the 
former with a population ot 1200 — the latter of 4 
or 5000. The waters of the Bay are very deep, 
and vessels of war of any size can float with perfect 
safety almost everywhere. The curve of the Bay 
on the Northern side it would be difficult for nature 
to surpass. The ' tout ensemble ' moreover is ex- 
ceedingly picturesque, and with the golden sky and 
balmy airs of summer to beguile the senses it is easy 
to imagine oneself in the South of Europe looking 

,oyt upon one of the finest bays of the Mediterranean. 

" ' 7* 



78 THE xr.usTY pilot and castiise light. 

Some Frenchmen indeed, who were here a few 
years ago, were much taken with the beauty of this 
inland sea, or ' silvery lake ' and said it bore a stri- 
king resemblance to the Bay of Naples. 

But we must not forget tlie old and trusty pilot of 
these waters. He has seen many a foul day as well 
fair. lie has been caught by, as well as escaped 
many a squall. IJis little sloop with its green stri- 
ped sides, has oft been buried beneath the swehing 
waves. Though l"or many years he has crossed 
these waters, at all seasons, and almost every day, 
— bating those in mid-winter when tlie bay is thick- 
ribbed with ice — he has ever saved himself and 
those committed to his care. His shrewd weather- 
beaten visage assures you of safety. Would that 
his morals were as good as his pilotage. 

With a fair breeze the passage across the Bay is 
accomplished in two hours. Castine Jight is made 
a mile this side of the village. It is on the Western 
extremity of the Peninsula. Castine light ! I sup- 
pose, reader you think it would hardly reward a 
glance. You are mistaken. Itis a beautiful object 
situated as it is upon a lofty precipice, whose rugged 
sides consist of rocks that have been worn into all 
curious shapes by the ebb and flow of the restless 
ocean-waters for unknown centuries. You run close 
under tliem. In a few minutes you find yourself 
alongside the wharfs, the snug village of Castine 
and its neat Churches rising before you hke a vision 
of some fairy land. 



CASTING ITS SAEBATIJ STILLNESS. 79 

The Pe;iiiisu!a is some four or five miles in cir- 
cumference, oblong in sliiipe, and rises gruchially 
from the water's edge to a considerable elevation. 
The Town is on the southern slope, beneath the 
battlements ol a large and strong fortlilicalion erec- 
ted by the British during the revolutionary war, and 
taken possession of by them ngain during the last war. 
It seems to sleep quietly beneath the arm of a migh- 
ty protector, literally to sleep, for there is not what 
can be called bustle or stir therein from morn to 
mid-day, or latest eve. No carts, wagons, or chai- 
ses are heard rattling along the f?ne-gravelled streets. 
The town contains but twelve liundred inhabitants 
and two hundred of these form a village by them- 
selves several miles from the Peninsula. All busi- 
ness is transacted by water. So that a Sabbath still- 
ness pervades the air every day of the week. Cas- 
tine is a lovely place. The houses are quite com- 
pact and nearly all painted ; most of them white. 
They are of two stories, built in good taste, and 
seldom destitute of gardens of considerable size and 
some beauty. It has never been my good fortune 
to be in a village that is blessed with greater tran- 
quility — purer air — cleaner and better streets, or 
houses, yards and fields more neat and pleasura- 
ble. The climate is equable. The mercury sel- 
dom mounts higher than 85, or descends lower than 
— 15 degrees. 

Castine would be a choice watering-place for the 
rich merchpiils of Bangor during the h.eats of sum- 



80 FORTS — COUNT OF CaSTINE. 

nier. There are two churclies : onelifting a square 
tower, and the other a very symmetrical spire into the 
heavens. The Unitarian Church, in'^ide and out, 
is a model of correct taste. Tiiese churches, as is 
the case in all small villages, are antipodal to each 
other in all respects, but locality. The Bay in front 
of Castine, which is three-fourths of a mile wide, is 
deep, and will float close to the town the largest 
vessels of war. Between the Town and the Light 
are the remains of three forts, one erected during 
the last war, which is in a good state of preserva- 
tion and contains a few cannon within its precincts 
— another erected during the old French war — 
and another erected by the Count of Castine, 
a French Nobleman, who is supposed to have come 
to this country in disgrace, and, attracted by the 
beauty of the situation, to have fixed his abode here. 
The Indians were numerous about him, and to pro- 
tect himself against their depredations and any evil 
schemes they might machinate against him m case 
of ofi^ence, as also to gain entire sway over them so 
as to make them subservient to his purposes, he is 
said to have thrown up these mounds and planted 
in front rows of palisades. These events must haye 
taken place some centuries since. 

Reader, ascend with me now to the central and 
principal fort on the height of the Peninsula, and 
take a view of that Panorama which I have so often 
gazed upon with delightful and sublime emotions, 
^nd with which my e^e could never grow weary. 



GREAT FORT VIEW FROM ITS RAMPART. 81 

Let me point out to you the different features of the 
landscape. To the north you trace a line of wild 
and rugged hills, and the serpentine course of that 
Prince of Eastern rivers, the mighty Penohscot, 
coming down from the solitude of unbroken forests 
where the cry of wild beasts alone is heard. To 
the East the ocean tides ascend far beyond the- poia^ 
of land on which you stand to join tl>e fresh-water 
currents that descend from their sources several 
miles above, and seventeen miles distant is the co- 
nical swell of a certain wooded eminence, ever with 
a veil of blue mist thrown around its sides and 
heightening its natural charms, known as ' Blue- 
Hill.' To the South your eye falls upon the sweet 
village at your feet — the whnrfs and ships which be^ 
speak commerce of considerable moment — the bay 
widening eastward from three-fourths of a mile lO 
three miles, and spotted with many fairy islands of 
every size and shape —some, bare and sea-washed 
rocks — others, clothed with verdure and enlivened 
with the bleat of flocks of sheep — some, producing 
in abundance varieties of berries — the rich black- 
berry and delicious strawberry — others, clothed 
with a goodly growth of forest. Among them the 
seal swims and the porpoise gambols, and upon them 
in winter the foxes seek their food. Directed sea- 
ward your eye will catch in the distance five or six 
isles, twenty-nine miles off, one behind the other in 
almost regular succession, the foremost small, but 
increasing in size to the hindmost, and appearing 



B2 HEIGHTS or BROOKVILLE. 

like a file of tortoises taking up their line of march 
across the waters of the bay. To the West lies 
spread out before you the broad bay at the mouth; 
of the Penobscot — Prospect and Belfast along its 
shores — Long Island far-stretching North and 
South, and the noble range of the Camden Hills 
with their rounded summits rising one above anoth 
er, and, when reflected in golden splendor against 
an evening sky, presenting a scene of great beauty 
and one admirably suited to the pencil. The duty 
of a Cicerone I have now discharged and leave you, 
my Iriend, to gaze, admire, and indulge your own 
reflections. — If you are a lover of fine scenery step 
into one of the swift sail-boats at the wharf and 
speed your course to the islands or the heights of 
Brookville ; you will never repent it. 'New- 
England cannot furnish more enchanting and mag- 
nificent landscapes. Winnipisseogee lake with its 
more than three hundred isles, as seen from the 
summit of Red Mountain, hardly equals them. 

Castine is a most sequestered spot. It is not upon 
any of the main roads that traverse the State. It is 
thirty-two miles South of Bangor and seventeen 
from Bucksport. Every mile from this latter place 
towards C*. carries you so far away from the com- 
mon thoroughfare of travel. If a stranger is in Cas- 
tine, he is there to view the scenery, visit his rela- 
tions and friends, or accomplish some matter of bu- 
siness. The chief events which serve to enliven 
the Sabbath stillness of the place are the periodical 



INHABITANTS OF CASTINE. 83 

sittings of the Courts and the occasional debarkation 
of a steamboat party from Bangor. The inhabitants 
of Castine partake of the character of then- village 
and climate. There is a gentleness, quiet, and equa- 
bility about them, that are rarely to be found amidst 
the bold enterprize and bustle of the East. Com- 
merce built up the place, and this, together with 
the regular outfit of the fishing-smacks that run to the 
Great Banks, sustain it in about the same position 
from year to year. The merchants, some of them, 
have amassed considerable property. Of farmers 
there are a few. The soil is generally untractable. 
The Western parts of the Peninsula are very rocky, 
yet produce grass enough for sheep. Springs gush 
out here and there to quench their thirst, and clumps 
of spruce, birch, and other trees form for them a 
pleasant shade from the heats of mid-summer. 

Castine — a pleasant vision will ever rise to my 
mind when thy name is mentioned or occurs to me. 
Never shall I foreet that sacred desk, associated 
with my earliest efforts in the cause of Christian 
truth and love, where for the first time I felt myself 
a preacher of the cross and charged with the respon- 
sible care of immortal spirits, or that little band 
that pledged themselves to commemorate a Saviour's 
love, or the Sabbadi School that responded so tru* 
ly to the vesper prayer and listened with so much 
interest to the friendly counsels of their Teachers, 
and chanted with such harmonious and heavenly joy 
hymns of praise to the Creator and Father of all. 



84 THINGS NEVER 

Never shall I forget those weekly assemblings for 
mutual instruction and encouragement, for the culti- 
vation of the social feelings, for the attainment of a 
spirit of true piety, for ' thanksgiving and the voice 
of melody ', or those happy evenings spent in listen- 
ing to rich, hallowed, and wonderful elfusions of olden 
song, which the musical upstarts of the present day, 
one may venture to affirm, have never heard, if in- 
deed they have known of their existence. Long 
shall I remember my frequent rambles along thy 
shores — Old Castine — the many curious stones and 
sea-weeds, shells and fish I have gathered there — the 
sea-birds floating upon the breast of the blue waters, 
or careering and screaming overhead, or sfvimming 
along the margin of the shore — the bleating of the 
sheep borne from the islands on the stillness of the 
evening twilight — the vessels in full sail, from ship 
to fishing-smack, bounding in from the mighty sea 
— the star-lit nights, clearer and brighter than far- 
ther West — that happiest eve when an unexpect- 
brother was my guest, and sitting in my chamber 
discoursing of things that stirred our souls, we threw 
our windows up, 

' And looked forth to the sky whose floating glow 
Spread like a rosy ocean, vast and bright ; 
And gazed upon the glittering sea below, 
Whence the broad moon rose circling uito sight, 
And heard the waves' splash and the wind so low ' — 

Long shall I remember the lovely bay seldom torn 
with bitter squalls, on which I first learned to guide 



TO BE FORGOTTEN. 8^ 

my little boat without pilot or companion, and that af- 
ternoon when pursued by a man-mermaid or mer- 
man — an unaccountable creature with broad face, 
capacious head, large human eyes and locks some- 
what grey and long — how he darted towards me 
under water, reappearing at intervals to look around 
and at me, and when with haste I ran my boat into 
a nook hard by, disappearing to be seen no more. 
Long shall I remember that aged woman • — a shin- 
ing light of the church — w ho lived all but an hun- 
dred years and was active as a person ol three score, 
who retained all her intellects and affections to the 
last, and died as she had lived full of faith and hope 
— that solemn time when rowed three miles across 
the waters in a light skiff, and from the landing- 
place obliged to walk several miles beneath a swel- 
tering sun to aUend the funeral solemnities of an old 
man — a patriarch indeed — round whose remains 
had gathered a company of mourners from the four 
winds of heaven — that afflicted son of man, with a 
large family of youthful sons and daughters depend- 
ant upon him for subsi;tance, suddenly prostrated in 
the prime of life, by an excruciating and horrid dis- 
ease, unable to eat or drink, and, sad to tell or think 
upon, starved — literally starved into his 'narrow 
house ' — and those thrilling tales of deserters from 
the Euglish Camp, who were taken and subjected 
to the rigour of martial law — shot outside the fort 
into their coffins, as they kneeled over them, 
by a file of their obedient but heart-rent comrades. 
8 



86 DEPARTURE FOR THE SOUTH. 

These and many other things will never be forgotten. 
Much professional labor, the short intermission 
between services on the Sabbath (affording little op- 
portunity for the repose of mind or body) together 
with the powerful action upon my system of an at- 
mosphere saturated with salt-vapors, made it necessaP- 
ry for me to obtain a release from the Society at 
Castine and seek a more Southern clime. It was 
the middle of February and the best ot sleighing ; ac- 
cordingly a quick run over the hardened snow soon 
brought me again to the metropolis of N. England. 



SOUTHWARD. 



CHAPTER I. 

Hartford — Asylum for the Deaf and Dumb. Mw 
York — Jewish Sabbath — Peak's tMuseum — 
Hydro- Oxygen Microscope. Hoboken. Phila- 
delphia — PratVs Garden^ etc. Baltimore — a 
noble Forest — Catholic Cathedral — Jin ardent 
Catholic, 

From Boston, after the expiration of a month, 
1 took steamboat for New York by the way of Hart- 
ford, and visited the Asylum for the Deaf and Dumb 
in H*. There were one hundred and thirty pupils. 



HA.RTFORD DEAF AND DUMB ASYLUM. 87 

They obtain a good general education, and the 
knowledge of some particular trade. I was inform- 
ed that there were seven or eight thousand of these 
unfortunates in the United States, and about fifteen 
hundred in Massachusetts. The states severally 
support ihcir Deaf and Dumb who are in indigent 
circumstances. Some of these have no idea of God. 
Though they fear when it thunders and lightens, it is 
not from any conception of a superior Being. They 
expect to die like the beasts of the field, and perish 
forever. So I was told. This must be true, I 
should suppose, only those who have not had the 
benefit of any education. The teachers are ten in 
number, three of them deaf and dumb, and receive 
salaries of five hundred to fifteen hundred dollars. 
The fund of the Institution Is $100,000. 

I passed a week in New York, and made myself 
familiar with all that is interesting therein ; its pub- 
lic buildings — its City Hall with bespotted marble 
steps — a desecrated place, literally a magnificent 
spit-box — its Exchange, with its statue of exquis- 
he workmanship and truth — its churches, of which 
St. John's with its lofiy spire, imposing interior, 
and noble square, guarded by a costly and sub- 
stantial iron railing, took my fancy far more than any 
other — its Hotels — its batteries and parks, its gar- 
dens and refectories — its Museums — Hospitals 
— 'and Colleges — also its rattling and numberless 
Omnibusses, some of whose inscriptions pleased me, 
such as Washington Irving, Alice Gray, Lady Clin* 



&8 NEW-YORK. 

ton, Knickerbocker, Gideon Lee, North Star, and 
Rip Van Winkle. Among the strange sights of this 
Strange city, I saw such strange signs and symbols 
as ' Quackenboss, Wjncoop & Co.' ' Babylon — 
Islip — Patchoque vStage. ' Paid a visit to Mar- 
quand's Jewelry Store, Gardiner's Furniture Ware 
House, G. &. C. Carvill's Bookstore, Waldo & 
Jewett's Painting Rooms, and the Rooms of the 
Geological Institute, which I note thus particularly, 
as every body ought to visit them. 

A hot and sultry day — in the fifth story of a cof- 
fee-house, taking a siesta after dinner, and slightly 
protected by the netting that enclosed my couch 
from the attacks of musketoes of monstrous size 
and alarmingly ferocious dispositions — most blood- 
thirsty phlebotomists ; here carried on with Quix- 
otic ardor an argumentation with an antagonistical 
friend on the value of posthumous fame. 

Threaded a multitude of streets on Sabbath morn- 
ing with the same friend to find the Jewish Syna- 
gogue and attend its services. After a persevering 
and wearisome search we ferreted it out, and drop- 
ped upon its steps exhausted with latigue — all to 
no purpose but to have impressed upon our memories 
by an Israelite the old and lost lesson that Saturday 
is the Jewish Sabbath. A laugh at our stupidity 
and folly refreshed us somewhat, and we wound our 
way to Murray -street and heard the Rev. Mr. Snod- 
grass preach, (Phoebus what a name!) or rather 
slept through his preaching — m fault of the ser- 



peale's museum, etc. 89 

mon however. The physical man was prostrate. — 
Tiie Hesh wiis weak, and the spirit also. 

At Peale's Museum formed an acquaintance with 
two or three individuals of the serpentine species, 
su^h as the Anaconda, the Boa Constrictor, and 
took a seat within the shell of a Sycamore tree, big 
enough to contain a score of humanities. At the 
American was interested in the examination of 
curiosities upon curiosities, too numerous to mention, 
and there witnessed tljo astonishing powers of the 
Hydro-oxygen Microscope, magnifying the skeleton 
larvcC of the Gnat and the Hydrophilus or water- 
Devil, which devours every day six or eight times 
Its weight of insects, to two million and a half times 
their natural size, and thereby exhibiting to view 
their internal structure -'- muscles, organs. Sic. 

Washington Square, with its spacious and unique 
marble edifice or College — The Park, with Its 
public bulkhngs, and rural aspect in the heart of die 
city — the Battery at its Southern extremity, with 
its fine ranges of trees, its smoothed and winding 
walks, and its seats for the weary or contemplative 
— these are the pride of New York and an attrac- 
tion to strangers. 

Crossed by the ferry to Brooklyn and Hoboken 
and have much to say In praise of both, especially 
tlie latter. It is one and a half miles to Hoboken, 
and the ferriage but six cents. Purchased a juve- 
nile ride upon a circular lail-way for twelve cents, 
and walked through the fine avenue of trees, stretch- 

8* 



90 HOBOKEN PHILADELPHIA. 

hing for miles, and forming a most romantic prom- 
enade along the banks of the Hudson, as far as Tur- 
tle Grove. The weather not proving good my 
friend and my self were obliged to return, much to 
our disappointment, without visiting the tomb of 
the immortal Hamilton. We saw grape vines on 
our way, the most astonislilng for size — one sev- 
enty feet in length, and covering the frame of a buil- 
ding thirty-five feet in breadth, for which it answer- 
ed as a perfect shelter or roof, and another eigh- 
ty feet in length, forty in breadth, and eleven in 
circumference at the trunk. This was the Burgun- 
dy grape. 

Next took passage for Philadelphia, where I tar- 
ried another week and for the same purpose. — Went 
as everybody does, to the Fair Mount waterworks 
and the Mint where they cut 120 half dollars in 
a minute and the mint-hopper throws out 50 at once 
all stamped and ready for use. I was surprised to 
learn from the superintendent that out of a thou- 
sand persons who had been employed in the differ- 
ent branches of the business, only two had been 
dishonest and purloined money. — Went also to the 
Navy Yard to see the largest ship in the Union, and 
and a big one it is indeed. 

Was favored by kind friends with a trip to Pratt's 
Garden, a little out of the city, which is perfect in 
its way. Among other plants and trees, I remem- 
ber the Yew, Banyan, Cypress, Mocha Coffee, Ro- 
dodendron, Arbor Vitae, Juniper, Tulip tree, Wax- 



BALTIMORE. 91 

plant, Citron, Pine-apple, &c. J gave a | a>s- 
ing look at llic famous Penitentiary coverinc; so ma- 
ny acres — thought the Arcade contuining Peale's 
unrivalled Museum, and the Chesnut-street Theatre 
buildings of no common beauty, and admired much, 
very much the simple architecture of the United 
States Bank as well as the lich and superb facade 
of tiie Exchange. Chesnut St. is a fine street, 
though not for a moment to be compared with 
Broadway. The market in Philadelphia however, 
is above comparison with any thing of the kind in 
New York. The former place moreover has the 
advantage of an abundant supply of good water, in 
which the latter is sadly deficient. Philadelphia, on 
the whole, is too much a city of straight lines for 
my taste. Give me a little more up and down, 
round-about and twist-about. There is nothing so 
pleasant as to be lost once in a while in a large city. 
— The Philadelphians and New Yorkers are as stri- 
kingly ditlerent as tiieir cities. Of this and their 
peculiarities every body is aware. 

Baltimore is a fine city. I do not mean that it 
is more so than those already noticed, but it is more 
to the mind of a Bostonian, or one who like my- 
self has w alked its streets for years, than any other 
city I have seen. It contains nearly the same num- 
ber of inhabitants, is just about as irregular, and, in 
fact, is much like Boston. Baltimore and also Phil- 
adelphia, as respects the syren charms of woman, 
are said to surpass other cities. The chief objects 



92 A NOBLE FOREST, 

of interest to a stranger in Baltimore, are Wash- 
ington's Monument, the Battle Monument, the Pen- 
itentiary and Prison, the Water Works, and the 
City Spring. Within the enclosure of the latter is 
a monument erected to some colonel who fell in a 
skirmish in 1814. It is a small square shaft flanked 
by marble cannon, with four cannon shot on the 
summit, and upon these a bomb-shell. In the vi- 
cinity of Washington's Monument, truly worthy of 
the Father of his Country, is an extensive forest of 
ancient oaks. It is most truly picturesque. You 
cannot enter it with careless steps. You are awed 
at once by the grandeur of the old forest brethren, 
standing side by side, and lilting their crowned heads 
towards the heavens. Within this sacred domain 
the flame of devotion kindles in the soul without 
efl:brt — unconsciously. One feels the truth of the 
following beautiful passage : ' In the woods is per- 
petual youth ; within the plantations of God a deco- 
rum and sanctity reign ; a perennial festival is dress- 
ed, and the guest sees not how he should tire 0/ 
them in a thousand years.' 

Among other objects of interest, are the Unitarian 
Church, which is hardly equalled for imposing ef- 
fect in the Union, — St Mary's College, which by 
the by is of indifferent appearance — the Exchange, 
U. S. Bank, and Custom House (one building) and 
in particular the Catholic Cathedral. On the dif' 
ferent sides of the last, as you approach, your at- 
tention is attracted by the following passages of 



CATHOLIC CATHEDRAL. 93 

Scripture : 'Ye shall keep my Sabbaths, and rever- 
ence my sanctuary: I am the Lord.' (Levit. xix. 30.) 
' Now mine eyes shall be open, and mine ears attent 
unto the prayer that is made in this place.' (2 Chron. 
vii. 15.) 'We preach Clirist crucified, unto the 
Jews a stumbling-block, and unto the Greeks foolish- 
ness.' (I Corin. i. 23.) It is hardly necessary to 
say that passages like these, inscribed in letters legi- 
ble at considerable distance, produce a very solemn 
effect upon the mind. As you enter the Cathednil 
a marble figure on one side greets your eye, point- 
ing toward the Holy of Holies with this inscription, 
which seem? to sound in your ears — ' Adore the 
Lord in his Holy Temple ;' and another on tlie op- 
posite side with the following : — ' He that shall vi- 
olate the temple of God, him shall God destroy.' 
Back of the pulpit you read — ' Come ye therefore 
and teach all nations.' Many valuable paintings 
hansr about the walls, all of which are described 
with great particularity by a female attendant. I 
was at the Cathedral on a week-day, and afterwards 
on the Sabbath. On my first visit I had a some- 
what singular conversation WMtli the pious Catholic 
woman, who acted the part of a cicerone. She 
discoursed with incredible fluency about the altar, 
the paintings, the calendar of saints, the sacrifice of 
the mass, a belief of which she declared essential to 
salvation, transubsantiation, the history of the church, 
&c. I told her, when the current of her thoughts 
ehecked a little, that I did not know what she m^ant 



94 AN ARDENT CATHOLIC. 

by the ' sacrifice of the mass,' which she deemed 
so indispensable. She undertook to explain, but 
her explanation left me in still greater perplexity 
and darkness. ' It is all essential,' said she with 
increased volubility ; 'The church is built upon it. 
You cannot be saved without it.' 'But,' said I, 
*■ we read nothing of the sort in the Bible — The 
expression is not there.' 'The Catholic Church,' 
she replied, ' is the true church — Believe in this 
and you will be saved.' * How do you know,' said 
I, ' that it is the true church ?' '0,' said she, ' it 
is founded upon the teaching of the apostles.' 
' How do you know that } Have you ever read 
the history of the church.'" 'No, I have not.' 
' How then do you know }' ' The priest has told 
us.' ' Now,' said I, 'allow me to say you are in 
a great error. The history of the church I have 
read carefully, and can assure you that the Catholic is 
not the ancient, the true church. The true church is 
that now called Liberal.' Pointing towards the dome 
of the Unitarian church, ' there,' said I, ' is the an- 
cient, the true church.' She shook her head, and 
replied, 'No.' She argued moreover from the uni- 
rersality of the Catholic church that it was the 
church of the apostles. ' No.' said I, ' In the first 
place it is not universal, and if it were, it would 
prove nothing. A belief in witchcraft was once uni- 
versal. Does this prove its truth ? Do you be- 
lieve in it on this account .^' 

At length she said she did not consider the Uni. 



AN ARDENT CITHOLIC. 95 

tarian cliurch a church. ^No salvation is lo be found 
in it. If you are not a Catholic,' she continued/ you 
may as well be an Unitarian as any thing else. There, 
is no safety out of the true Church, After a while 
she relaxed a little, and said'she hoped 1 was on safe 
ground,' (or rather) ^ hoped I was safe.' I walked 
about the aisles and she recommenced her descrip- 
tions of some of the painted figures. At length she 
turned and said, ' But it is of no use for me to talk 
— you do not believe what I say.' I replied, that 
I believed all 1 knew to be historically true ; more 
than this it was out of my power to believe. Part 
of the conversation was quite amuseing, for she was 
a quick-witted woman. I seated myself near the 
pew of the last of the Signers, Charles Carrol, while 
she stood in the aisle. Some of her remarks pleased 
me so much that I quite forgot myself and irrever- 
ently put my hat on my head, which she in a moment, 
as if her sense of propriety had been in a degree 
shocked, requested me to take off. Ere 1 left this 
singular woman, as my friend and myself stood up- 
on the steps of the Cathedral, she said, 'though she 
could not think us safe, nay, must think us in much 
danger, she hoped we might meet again in another 
world, in the better country.' I replied that I did 
not doubt, if we sought diligently to understand, and 
to perform our duties here, she would find us there 
at last. With these words we parted. 1 attended 
the Cathedral service on the Sabbath. It was a most 
ridiculous piece of mummery. It was bowing like 
the bulrush throughout. 



96 HOTELS. 

Lottery offices abound here.—Peale's Museum U 
worth a visit. — The Pittsburgh wagons, with their 
large breasted and fine-limbed horses — powerful 
and high-spirited animals, cannot but attract notice. 

The Hotels of the most established reputation 
which it may be well to name for the benefit of some, 
are the City Hotel — Beltzoover's — the Baltimore 
Hotel and Houseley's or Hussey's. 

Of our religious societies in the several cities 
noticed, as they were then, and have been since, 
nothing could be told that is not generally known. 



CHAPTER H. 

Indications of Slaverij. Washington — Capitol and 
President's House. J\It. Vernon— The way to 
it. The old JVegro Servant. The new and the 
old Tomb. The Mansion — Its Apartments^ etc, 
etc. The View from the Piazza. The Garden 
and Green-house. Our Departure. 

Descending the steps of the City Hotel to take 
the stage to Washington, I unexpectedly met upon 
the pavement several highly valued friends, some 
from Cambridge, whose faces were turned in the 
same direction. We concluded to go in company, 
and securing seats in the same coach, started oif in 
good spirits for the capital of the Union. It was a 
fine spring morning. Its pure soft air, to which we 
had long been strangers, with highly entertaining con- 
versation answered as an offset to the hard road and 



INDICATIONS OF SLAVERY. 97 

uninteresting aspect of the country. On our jour- 
ney for the first time did I realize that we were in 
a slave state. In Bahimore the idea had hardly oc- 
curred to me. Here and there, as we rolled along, 
a few miserable negro huts skirted the road, and 
once in a while we could distinguish a lagged for- 
lorn object busy at his task in the sterile and drea- 
ry fields. Some time in the after part of the day 
we found ourselves in the streets of the famed city 
and, covered with dust, soon landed at the door of 
Gadsby's Hotel. Though much fatigued one of 
our company and myself could not but sally forth, 
as soon as might be, to get a view ere night-fall 
of the Capitol and President's house. They 
tower — especially the former -— in their pride and 
glory at the extreme points of Pennsylvania ave- 
nue. They are a mile distant from each other. 
All I have to say of them and the city at present is, 
that the former produce an imposing effect upon the 
mind, and that the latter, apart from its being the 
seat of government and its public buildings, contains 
but little to interest. The view however from the 
dome of the capitol is very extensive and very 
good, though not extraordinary. But more of these 
hereafter. 

The next day our party were desirous of pro- 
ceeding immediately to Mount Vernon. So we 
procured a barouche and set off. It is fifteen miles 
from the city. We entered a steamboat, barouche 
and all, and descended the Potomac as far as Alex- 
9 



98 MT. VERNON THE WAY TO IT. 

andria, which is six miles distant. The trip was 
pleasant, but Alaxandria we found to be a most un- 
sightly place. We were soon out of it and on our 
way to the shrine of our country's idol. For the 
greater part of the nine miles the country on either 
side of us was woody and wild. The road, if it 
might be called such, was bad beyond description. 
Mud, deep and miry, in some places to the hubs of 
the wheels, and frequent peril of being overset and 
buried therein made it necessary to walk the horses 
nearly the whole distance. It was a long — long 
journey, but not a tedious one. It was a truly pleas- 
ant pilgrimage. We made all due allowances for the 
season of the year, but evidently at no season is the 
road kept in repair, and it is a disgrace to the coun- 
try that it should be so. The approach to the seat 
from the main road is through an irregular and natu- 
ral growth of fine tall trees which extend for a mile 
or more. The aspect of the country all the way 
from Alexandria is rural, and Mount Vernon, as it 
opens to the eye, is highly beautiful and picturesque. 
It has all the essentials of a delightful country seat, 
and one would not be at a loss to pronounce it the 
hospitable abode of a Virginia gentleman — a man of 
character and taste — a lover of nature in her natu- 
ral mood and serene beauty. We alighted from 
our vehicle and soon perceived an aged negro ap- 
proaching, who greeted us in a most courtier-like 
manner. We made known the object of our visit. 
He turned and led the way slowly towards the house. 



THE OLD NEGRO SERVANT. 99 

where we hoped to find Mrs. Washington, to whom 
we had a card kindly furnished us by an intimate 
friend of the family. He informed us, much to our 
disappointment, that she was not at home. As we 
walked along thoughts of days gone by and of him 
— the pure genius of this sacred spot — crowded 
upon our minds. A (ew questions put to the aged 
negro proved him to be ready to communicate all he 
knew. We learned from him that he had been a 
servant in Washington's family and was 38 years old 
when the General died. He said he was ' raised ' 
in the household, was ' given ' by the General to 
the Judge, and by the latter to John Washington 
' to take care of. ' ' When we were boys,' he contin- 
ued, (speaking of Washington and himself) ' we of- 
ten rolled in the grass together. Dear me !' he ex- 
claimed, ' many a thump have I given him in play. 
Though much older than me, Washington loved to 
play with me.' He must have been much more 
than thirty-eight years old when the General died, 
or his imagination has put considerable coloring on 
this picture. Conversing about the General we fol- 
lowed him past the house down to the ' new tomb,* 
which was begun by Washington, but left unfinished 
at his death. In this tonjb the ashes of the Father 
of his Country now repose. 

* And does a hero's dust lie here ? 
Columbin ! gaze and drop a tear ! 
His country's and the orphan's friend, 
See thousands o'er his ashes bend ! 



100 THE NEW AND THE OLD TOMB. 

Among the heroes of the age, 
He was the warrior and the sage. 
He left a train of glory bright. 
Which never will be hid in night. 

***** 

And every sex and every age 
From lisping boy to learned sage» 
The widow and her orphan son. 
Revere the name of Washington.* 

The tomb is a plain brick structure, shaded 
by waving branches of cedar. The inscription 
on the front produces a sublime effect upon the 
mind and thrills it with lofty and sacred associations. 
It is this : 

WASHINGTON FAMILY. 

* I am the resurrection and the life. He that be- 
lieveth in me, though he were dead, yet he shall live, 
and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall nev- 
er die.' John. 

The rays of the bright sun gilded the face of the 
tomb and the shadow of the trees fell upon the 
arched and grassy roof, and here and there upon the 
circumjacent ground. We took a few sprigs of the 
branches that hung over the entrance, then silently 
and thoughtfully followed our venerable guide to the 
old tomb where the body was first deposited. It 
was built of like materials with the new, but is now 
in a ruined state. When the body was removed, 
our guide informed us that the mahogany covering 
of the lead coffin had entirely rotted away even to 
the screws and nails. The lead coffin was tb««- 



THE MANSION. 101 

put into a plain wooden box and then deposited in 
the new tonib. From this spot, he said, the fami- 
ly never would consent that it should be removed. 
We brought away frvOm the old tomb bits of the stone - 
on which the coflln rested for many years and which 
seemed to us hallowed by this simple circumstance, 
and some of the acorns which dropt from the oak that 
lifts itself majestically near by, and seems to be the 
protection ol the j)lace from all irreverent intrusion. 
We then naturally directed our steps towards the 
house, anxious to see tliose apartments where tiie 
Father of his Country studied and wrote, conversed 
and planned, partook of the joys and endearments 
of domestic life. We passed through the entry 
that divides the house, into what Is called the set- 
ting-room. As every thing that is associated with 
the ' First in the Iiearts of his countrymen ' is in- 
teresting, I trust I shall be excused for minuteness 
of descilption. Since his death few alterations of 
any consequence have been made in any of the apart- 
ments. The room just mentioned is of moderate 
size and every thing about it indicates a simple taste. 
This Is true of all the apartments Into which we were 
admitted. The first object that attracted our attention 
was the Identical library, over whose books he had 
pondered, enclosed in a large window case occupy- 
ing, or rather constituting one side of the apartment. 
Various pictures lay upon the table in the centre 
of the room, near which stood two of Mrs Wash- 
i;]gto;j's sons. Among other things we noticed a 



102 ITS APARTMENTS, ETC 

large map — a fan of peacock feathers — and busts of 
La Fayette and General Washington placed on op- 
posite sides of the room. Near this is an apartment 
where he transacted business and did all his writing. 
The wainscoting and ceiling (which is highly 
ornamented and beautiful,) are the same as when he 
occupied it. The same pictures and engravings 
hang on the walls, but since his death they have been 
newly framed. Among them I noticed ' Hector 
and Andromache.' 'The Fall of Montgomery.' 'The 
defence of Gibraltar' — and 'The battle of Bunker's 
Hill.' On the other side of the entry is a small 
room for winter, neat and appropriately furnished — 
then a room quite spacious, added by the General 
and containing a fire-frame presented him by La 
Fayette, when he heard that he was enlarging his 
house. It is of exquisite marble, having various 
agricultural emblems wrought u[)on it, such as sheep 
— cattle — milk-maids &c. The ceiling is decked 
with similar devices, such as the rake — spade — 
pitch-fork — pick-axe — sickle — wheat-sheaf &c. 
These are arranged in groups in the centre and an- 
gles of a large figure occupying the whole ground. 
A neat organ, a portrait of Judge Washington, neph- 
ew of the General, and a large painting comprising 
the different members of Mrs Washln2;ton's family 
ahe present occupant, (whose husband was a neph- 
ew to the Judge) embrace all that deserves notice. 
There is an adjacent room of small size, containing 
a painting on canvass over the fire-place — an eii- 



CURIOSITIES — PIAZZA. 103 

graved apotheo5^1s of Washington — a perfect like-* 
ness of the General executed by a French boy upoq 
a pitclier and so exquisitely done that it has been cut 
out and framed — a fine view of Mount Vernon and 
the serpentine waters of the Potomac &c. In the 
entry, your attention is attracted by several engra- 
vings and curiosities on either side, a dog and a her-f 
on, two representations of a fox-chase, two land- 
scapes without names, the key of the Bastile, the 
tooth of a Mammoth, and over the door that opens 
upouthe piazza, bronze images of slaves and lions. 
The door was thrown open and we went out upon 
the piazza which extends the whole length of the 
house. For the information of those who have nev- 
er seen an engraving of the house, it may be remark- 
ed that it is two stories in height, covering an oblong 
square, and of a color not much different from white; 
with a sort of cupola and wings, (or whut may be 
considered such) thrown a little back or towards 
the rear of the main building. The latter are cov- 
ered passages running out to what may be denomi- 
nated magnified bellries. 

The view from the Piazza of the winding course 
of the silver Potomac, of fort Warburton and other 
objects of interest in the distance is hardly equalled 
in our country. The house itself has a light and 
airy appearance and the whole picture limned upon 
the fancy answers to an oriental scene. Having ob- 
served all that was likely to gratify curiosity in the 
abode oi the departed, we retraced our steps to the 



104 THE GARDEN AND GREEN-HOUSE. 

rear of the house, and vvhiled away a short time In 
examining the lovely daffodils and hyacinths which 
grew plentifully on the grounds, the luxuriant box, 
so lofty and large-leafed, and a strikingly beautiful 
horse-chestnut which well nigh remained a puzzle 
to us all. We then passed through the garden 
to the green-house which was built by the General. 
This we found in a state of decay, the shingles on 
the roof shrivelled to a fraction of their original size. 
Inside however all looked thriving and blooming* 
Among other plants and trees we noticed the myr- 
tle, the orange, the cocoa-nut, the date, the palmet- 
to, the laurentinus, and two magnificent specimens 
of the sago, raised by General Washington and fif- 
teen years old when he died. The rarities of the 
green-honse were pointed out and explained to us 
by another slave or servant of tlie family, who seem- 
ed to be the gardener and was highly intelligent and 
polite. 

We had now seen Mount Vernon — with all that 
it contains hallowed by associations with the past, 
with the good and the great — with all It has to 
touch the heart of the stranger — the lover of his 
country- — the lover of patriotism, virtue, and pie- 
ty. In the short space of time we had been there 
we had contracted a warm affection and deep rev- 
erence for the spot, and when we left It, it was like 
tprning our backs upon an old and valued friend. 



105 
CHAPTER III. 

Return to the city. President's House — Apparte- 
nances and Decorations — View from the Vesti- 
bule. State Department — Curiosities. Patent 
Rooms. Capitol — Rotundo — Library — Rep- 
resentatives' Chamber — Senate Chamber — Cry- 
pet — View from the Dome. 

From Mt. Vernon we returned to the city, hav- 
ing accomplished all that conld be wished in a sin- 
gle day. Our thouj^hts were all employed. Our 
hearts were full. On the following morning we took 
a curricle and drove to the President's House. 
This was designed and completed by James Hoban, 
It is built of white freestone, is two stories in height, 
and has two entrances — one on either side — or- 
namented with porticoes. We were not much 
pleased with the portico on the side from which we 
entered. The columns are at irregular distances 
and have the appearance of plastered brick or stone. 
We were ushered into a common apartment, sup- 
ported by pillars resembling white marble, as they 
probably were. It contains busts of Americus and 
Columbus. They may be, for aught I know, very 
good likenesses, but they certainly are rather ugly, 
especially that of Americus. They are not w^hat 
imagination conceives, or demands. We then pass- 
ed into a setting-room decorated with azure ceiling, 
with satin-silk arm-chairs and window curtains of the 
same rich color. Busts of Washington and Gener- 
al Jackson faced each other on opposite sides of the 



106 president's house. 

room. That of Washington is very poor — that of 
Jackson very good. We thence passed into the 
great levee apartment. It is truly magnificent. It 
is ninety or a hundred feet in length, and ornament- 
ed with three candelabras, three centre tables of si- 
enite marble, eight splendid mirrors, and four mir- 
ror tables. You tread upon a rich and splendidly 
figured carpet. The figure I do not exactly recol- 
lect, but its prevailing colors are red and yellow, or 
white. The sofas and easy-chairs are covered with 
light-blue satin-silk. The walls are deep yellow 
with a border of crimson. The curtains, some of 
which are very gracefully supported by imitations of 
the human arm thrown around them, are white, blue, 
and light-yellow commingled. The room in some 
particulars will hardly bear criticism. The light- 
yellow of the curtains, deep-yellow of the walls and 
scarlet borders hardly correspond. It was the unan- 
imous opinion of our ladies that the carpet needed 
the cleansing effect of tea-leaves. — There are no 
portraits, paintings, or engravings. — We next en- 
tered the apartment where the General usually re- 
ceives his friends. It is furnished in a simple but 
costly manner. Its chief attraction is a fine paint- 
ing of Washington by Stuart. General Jackson was 
unable to make his appearance in consequence of 
indisposition. Though we had seen him before, we 
regretted we could not witness his courtesy, and par- 
take of his hospitality in the nation's palace. 

Our next point was the vestibule on the South 



STATE DEPARTMENT. 107 

side, looking towards the Potomac. The view is 
very good, though the house being upon a somewhat 
\evQ] site, cannot command a very extensive pros- 
pect. The grounds on this side are diversi- 
fied by some handsome swells clothed with 
grass, are appropriately laid out, and, in the neigh- 
borhood of the house, beautified with various flow- 
ers and plants. On the whole it is a seat worthy 
the people's idol. 

We then drove to the buildins; for the accomoda- 
tion of the State Department, examined the Library 
and other rooms, containing among their curiosites 
the treaties made by the United States with foreign 
nations. One in the Tukish language Was very curious, 
and attracted much notice. There were exhibited 
to us the great seals of England, Sweden, France, 
Russia, &.C — the signatures, wiih their own hands, 
of Alexander, Francis 1st, King John, Bernadotte, 
the Sultan, Don Pedro, Louis Phillippe,Bonaj)arte, 
&c. — the original Declaration of Independence as 
penned by the fadier of the Rev. Dr. Palfrey, the 
original Constitution of the United States, the Com- 
mission of Washington as Commander-in-Chief of 
the American forces, and his letter that accompanied 
the Constitution of the U. S., also various Roman 
coins, engravings on silver and gold, a gold box set 
with a vast quantity of diamonds and valued by lapi- 
daries at three thousand dollars, presented by the 
Emperor of Russia to our Charge d'Afiaires for John 
Quincy Adams, a singular shawl presented by the 



108 PATENT ROOMS THE CAPITOL. 

Emperor of Muscat to a Lieutenant in the Navy, 
Turkish guns from the Bey of Tunis, Turkish swords 
from the Pacha of Egypt, &c. 

The War Department came next, with its office 
of Indian Affairs decorated with numberless por- 
traits of Indian chiefs, squaws, and papooses. 

The Patent rooms then received us, with their 
heating, cooking, and ventilating apparatuses, &c. 
A maze of inventions ! Pity they are no more. It 
was one of the best illustrations of American charac- 
ter. — We noticed a remarkable testimony to the 
principles of phrenology in the vast organ of con- 
structiveness developed on the head of the overseer. 

The Capitol again. This building was designed 
by William Thornton, and accepted by General 
Washington. It is 215 feet above the level of Penn- 
sylvania Avenue, built of the same materials with the 
President's House, and has two magnificent wings. 
On each of these wings is a low dome, and from the 
centre of the building rises a third, large, lofty, and 
noble. Porticoes of different style and magnitude 
project from either side, and a stone balustrade en- 
compasses the whole. The Rotundo is situated be- 
twen the two wings, and is circular in shape. It is 
marble throughout, with the exception of the green 
baize door through which you enter and the sky- 
light above. The floor is a solid and handsome pave- 
ment; the arch is very elevated and grand. The light- 
est footstep — the touch of a walking cane — con- 
versation in a whisper are reverberated along the 



THE ROTUNDO ^ — LIBftilRY. 109 

walls and to the height of the dome in a most aston- 
ishing manner. The sound of a melodious voice is 
re-echoed so as to be exquisitely melodious. Soft 
music comes to the ear in tones of witchery that it 
possesses nowhere else. -^ In the niches are four 
pieces of sculpture. One represents the landing of 
our Pilgrim Fathers — another, a contest between 
Daniel Boon, one of the first settlers of the West, 
and an Indian Chief— the third, William Penn and 
two Indian chiefs engaged in a treaty beneath an elm 
tree on the eastern bank of the Delaware — the 
fourth, the delivery of Capt. John Smith of Vir- 
ginia memory from a violent death — the sentence of 
King Powhatan. He is saved by the intercession 
of Pocahontas, who almost breathes and speaks be- 
fore the spectator. In the other niches are the 
following paintings by Col. Trumbull : Decla- 
ration of Independence — Surrender of Burgoyne 
— Surrender of Cornwallis — Resignation of Wash- 
ington at Annapolis in '83. 

The Library Room is spacious, being ninety -two 
feet long, thirty-four wide, and thirty-six high. It 
contains twelve arched alcoves. A gallery extends 
nearly round with recesses corresponding to the al 
coves. Fluted pilasters, in imitation of the Octa- 
gon Tower at Athens, adorn the several alcoves. 
The number of volumes is about fourteen thousand. 
There are in this room busts of Jefferson, La Fay- 
ette, and Napoleon. That of La Fayette is poor. 

The Chamber of the House of Representatives 

10 



HO THE HALLS OF CONGRESS. 

resembles an ancient Grecian Theatre. Its great- 
est length is ninety feet, its height sixty. It is dec- 
orated with twenty-four superb columns of mixed 
marble or breccia, of the Corinthian order, quarried 
from the banks of the Potomac. These support 
capitals of white Italian marble, and rest on bases of 
free-stone. A dome of remarkable beauty springs 
from them, painted to represent the Pantheon at 
Rome. This was done by Bonani, a young Italian 
artist who died a few years since. An immense 
chandelier of gilt bronze hangs from the centre. 
The Speaker's chair is placed under a canopy. 
Above it is a colossal figure of Liberty, and on the en- 
tablature beneath the figure, the American Eagle. 
Facing the chair, on the other side, is a fine statue 
of marble, representing History. Red moreen hangs 
fringed and festooned between the columns. A 
full length portrait of La Fayette completes the dec. 
oration of the Hall. 

The Senate Chamber has the same form. Its 
greatest length is seventy-five feet, its height forty- 
five. A gallery extends nearly round supported by 
Ionic columns of Potomac marble, with capitals in 
omitation of those of Minerva Polias. The dome is 
ornamented with caissons of stucco, and the walls 
with drapery of straw-color between pilasters of mar- 
ble. 

Beneath the Rotundo is what has been denomi- 
nated a Crypet, supporting the floor above by forty 
columes. On the same level is the appartment used 



VIEW FROM THE DOME. Ill 

by the Supreme Court of the United States. The 
ceiling of this room which is somewhat pecuHar, is 
Supported by massy Doric columns in imitation of 
those in the temples of Paestum. There is a con- 
centration of golden rays immediately over the head 
of the Chief Justice. Three marble figures adorn 
the East front — - the Genius of America, Hope, and 
Justice. In fiont of the Capitol, on the West side, 
is a noble monument erected to the memory of the 
American ofHcers who fell in the Tripolitan war. 
It was wrought m Italy and is contained within an 
oblong marble vase. The ascent to the top of the 
Dome is rather fatiguing, but one is sufficiently re- 
paid by the view. The grounds about the Capitol 

— Pennsylvania Avenue -~ the President's House 

— the apparently distinct villages of the city — Co- 
lumbian College— the Navy Yard — Greenleafs 
Point— the National Burying Ground — the Poto- 
mac and the Bridge thereon — Georgetown — Mt. 
Vernon, &c. all lie around you. — So much for 
Washington and its environs. As Congress was not 
in session and the Sabbath had passed, I have noth- 
ing to say on politics or religion. The next day I 
parted from my friends and stepped aboard a steam- 
boat to descend the Potomac on my way to Vir- 
ginia. 



112 

CHAPTER IV. 

Fredericksburg. The Coachman a Slave-holder, 
Conversation on Slavery. Richmond — Charac- 
ter of the Inhabitants. Thoughts and Feelings. 
Shockoe Hill. J\Ionitm£^ntal Church. Prome- 
nade on the hanks of James River. April in Vir- 
ginia. Jewish Family. Wrecks on Chesapeake. 
The view of Mt. Vernon from the river was 
surpassingly beautiful. At Potomac Creek, forty- 
five miles from Washington, my steamboat passage 
was at an end, and I was under the necessity of 
transferring myself to the stage-coach. Nine miles 
brought me to Fredericksburg, a town situated on 
the South side of the Rappahannock river. It con- 
tains several thousand inhabitants. The chief ob- 
ject of interest in the place is a touching monument 
to the mother of Washington. 

From F**. to Richmond is some over an hun- 
dred miles. The several points on the route are 
Vileboro', Bowling-Green, Matapony river. White 
Chimneys, Hanover Court House, and Chickahom- 
any River. 

Out of Fredericksburg I took a seat upon the 
stage box and ventured to converse with the driver, 
who was a slave-holder, upon the subject of slave- 
ry. I found him as willing to be free in speech as 
myself. In the course of conversation he testified 
to the truth of what many seem disposed to doubt 
at the present day — that many of the slave-holders 
are very hard masters. He told me that some fed 



THE eOACHMAN A SLAVE-HOLDER. 113 

their slaves upon nothing but salt-fish and bread, 
and dealt out to them on Saturday nis;ht their allow- 
ance for a week tliat;they let them have nothing but 
straw to sleep on, and worked them from day-light 
until sun-down and after — a Jong day in mid-sum- 
mer. — Indeed we passed them in the fields — wo- 
mjn as well as men <-— planting and plowing long af- 
ter sunset. The vvomen however prefer field-work 
to house-work. — My informant remarked, they are 
clothed in rags, theii* mode of living gives them a sort 
of scurvy and enfeebles them, and this cause with in- 
cessant labor brings on premature decay. This is the 
treatment of some masters. Others, he said, fed them 
well, clothed them well, and worked them no more 
than they could bear. They saw that it was for their 
interest to tieat them well. They took good care of 
them as they would of their horses. For Ijimself 
he fed his negroes on bread and bacon and clothed 
them with stuff similar to what he wore himself, 
though a trifle coarser, and gave them three suits 
yearly. AVlicn we arrived at his house — where the 
stage-passengers usually dined — I took the oppor- 
tunity to examine his negroes somewhat attentively, 
but did not find them so well clothed as he repre- 
sented. 

He informed me moreover that the value of a 
good negro was treble that ,of a good horse — that 
there was much promiscuous intercourse among the 
slaves, though a form of marriage was often used 

and pronounced over diem by the master or over- 

10* 



114 CONVERSATION ON SLAVF.Kr. 

seer — that if a nej^ro was detected in ilieft, lie was 
lashetl or branded in the hand, and the iron pressed 
ill until he repeated ' God save the Commonwealth ' 
three times — and if one killed another, he was tried 
and hung, and the owner indemnified by the State. 
Hanging, said he, was too good for Nat Tnnner. 
He ought to have been cut to pieces. I asked him 
if he thought it probable that the negroes of Freder- 
icksburg ever heard of the insurrection and its con- 
sequences. He said. No. 

This driver, whose lame as an upright and hon- 
orable man had extended the country round, at his 
inn or plantation resigned his honors to some one 
else, and I took a seat inside the coach. Here I 
had some talk with a young Virginian on the same 
subject. The following are some of his observa- 
lions. Good slaves are worth six or seven hundred 
dollars. They are dog cheap at three or four hun- 
dred dollars. Those most highly valued are from 
sixteen to twenty-five years of age. A handsome 
negress will sell for two or three thousand dollars. — 
Negroes in Philadelphia are astonishingly impudent. 
Johnny Randolph's slaves (he had three hundred) 
were exceedingly polite — the finest of gendemen. 
— Negro-dealer, heretofore a term of reproach, is 
now becoming more respectable. Many young men 
make their fortunes in this kind of trade. — The 
Virginians would get rid of slavery if they knew 
how. They see its evil eflects. 

The coach rattled through the streets ot Rich- 



RICHMOND. 115 

mond at twelve o'clock at night — the passengers 
from Wasiiingtcn having been on the route since six 
in the nnorriing. It was now more thnn three weeks 
since I left Boston and the whole expense of my 
journey was less than sixty dollars. My fatigue 
was so great the morning after my arrival that my 
slumber was not broken until after ten o'clock, and 
breakfast was served up at the very fashionable hour 
of eleven. Slaves had been in my room early in 
the morning. Slaves waited upon me at table. 
Slaves had cooked and prepared all — -and all scen- 
ted and tasted of slavery. I could drink nothing — 
could cat nothing. Slavery became to me the all 
absorbing idea. It was my meat and drink for days. 
It occasioned me much anxiety and distress of mind. 
Richmond is a city of twenty thousand inhabitants 
and half of them are slaves. They are with you in 
the house and by the way — in the chamber — tl.e 
dining room — the market — the shop — the street 
— at morning and evening — at all times. They 
do every thing for you. They are ever at your el- 
bow. They are like the frogs of Egypt: you can- 
not escape them. 

Richmond is a peculiar city. There is little to re- 
mind one of N.England. People think differently — 
feel differently — talk differently — pronounce differ- 
ently — sing differently — look differently — dress dif- 
ferently — live differently — do differently. I mean 
no disparagement to the Virginians. Their ways 
may be as good as ours. Certain it is that in many 



116 CHARACTER OF THE INHABITANTS. 

respects they excel us. The mule-teams in the 
street driven by noisy and cruel masters (slaves!!) 
have altogether a strange aspect. Indeed one could 
not feel himself farther from home if he had crossed 
the Atlantic and was truly in a foreign land. There 
are churches, and the Sabbadi is observed ; but 
they are not New England churches, and the Sab- 
bath is not observed as in New England. The 
Thanksgivings and Fasts of New England are not 
there. The morality and sanctity of New England 
are not there. Slavery rests like a great curse up- 
on them. It is the worst of all evils. Of this it is 
true that many of the Virginians are aware and de- 
precate the same.— You sit at table. You are sur- 
prized thefamily is not poisonedby those who liavethe 
power in their hands. You are in the street. You 
think it strange that lusty muler-driver is driven by 
his bi'others in the flesh. You walk along the banks 
of the canal. You can liardly believe that hard- 
-fisted, brawny-muscled man, foi-cing along that 
boat-load ol merchandize, is not free. Alter ser- 
vice on the Sabbath you pass the African Church. 
A multitude is pouring out and has already covered 
the pavement, a dense and mighty mass. You won- 
der that so many fine athletic frames are not anima- 
ted by daring spirits, that they do not rise in ven- 
geance and strike a desperate blow for their liber- 
ties. On a holiday (they have many in the course 
of a year) you see them standing by scores at the 
corners of the streets, ancj hear the loud ]au2;h of 



THOUGHTS AMD FEELINGS. 117 

jolity resound Irom far and near. You cannot per- 
suade yourself that such happy beings are not their 
own masters — that they are the property of others, 
bought and sold like sheep in the shambles. You 
go to the capitol. An armed sentinel treads its floor. 
He is there night and day. When he is asleep, 
the city sleeps not safely. He is the watchman, but 
not of Ireedom. He is the eye of jealousy — the 
arm of power — the keeper of the bondman. You 
go to the market place. You see the fruits of long 
years of degradation and oppression in the ragged, 
decrepit, broken, unmanned, half-embruted,and mis- 
erable objects that greet you on every side. Wheth- 
er the number would be diminished if slavery were 
no more, many wise men question. You wind your 
way to the neighboring hill. You tread that hallow- 
ed spot of graves. You enter that simple rustic 
church where the eloquence of Patrick Henry was 
first enkindled and burned bright with the flame of 
freedom, and can hardly realize that the chains of 
slavery still clank around, and the air of freedom is 
wafted only to the white man's breast. You may 
not be an abolitionist. It is unnecessary you should 
be in order to the rise of such thoughts and feelings. 
Richmond is situated on the northern bank of the 
James river. The land rises gradually to a con- 
siderable elevation from the river, and on what is 
called Shockoe hill, which is the highest point, lies 
much of the Town. The principal buildings on 
this site are the Court-House, the Powhatan HoqsS 



118 MONUMENTAL CHURCH — PROMENADE. 

(an extensive public boarding-house), the Capitol, 
and the Monumental Church erected on the spot 
where the theatre was burnt. Ninety individuals 
were consumed in the flames, and to the memory 
of their unhappy fate a monument stands in the ves- 
tibule of the Church. From the Capitol the view 
of the city reposing beneath your feet, of the James 
river, and the country in the vicinity is highly 
picturesque. Richmond is at the head of tide wa- 
ter, near the lower falls of the river, and one hun- 
dred and fifty miles from its outlet into the Chesa- 
peake. The wide promenade along the banks of 
the James, embowered in trees, with the clear wa- 
ter of the canal enlivened by sounds of merchand- 
ize on one side, and the romantic falls of the James 
fifty or a hundred feet below you and extending for 
miles on the other, has no equal to my knowledge 
in the Northern States. Beyond the canal you look 
into the depth of a wild and boundless forest. Be- 
yond the river your eye rests upon the houses of 
Manchester, a town of some magnitude, or ranges 
over the partially cultivated country. It was early 
in April when I was in Richmond. In Boston and 
the vicinity the East winds blew cold, and tore your 
kings to tatters — every body was wrapped up in 
flannel and woollen — the fields were cheerless and 
the trees bare. On the contrary in R. the temper- 
ature was warm and the breezes bland — flannel 
and woollen were thrown aside for the light gar- 
ments of summer — the fields were green aw^nhe 



JEWISH FAMILY. 119 

trees leafed out, and their abundant blossoming filled 
the air with delicious fragrance. 

The church of our denomination is a small bricj^ 
edifice, similar in construction and external appear- 
ance to the Jewish Synagogue, which is but little 
distant arMj in the same street. — It was my good for- 
tune to have letters to a Jewish family in the city. 
What was my surprize, when ushered into their 
dwelling, to behold a portrait of the Rev. Dr. Chan- 
ning. I saw much of them and received expres- 
sions and proofs of kindness which it will never, I 
fear, be in my power to repay. In partial justice 
to them, I cannot deny myself the satisfaction of 
saying that it is not often one's lot to meet persons 
of such intelligence, sensibility, refinement, hos- 
pitality and genuine Clmstian feelings. They re- 
ceive attention from the first circles of the city, visit 
on the most friendly terms with Episcopalians, Pres- 
byterians, &c. and are very much respected and 
beloved. In about ten days I left Richmond in the 
river-steamboat. The sail to Norfolk affords much 
variety and is extremely pleasant. You pass many 
fine old seats of the Virginia planters — Jamestown 
where the English first setded — the Rip Raps 
of Presidential memory &c. The night we were 
on the Chesapeake there was a violent gale, and the 
next morning we passed two wrecked vessels that had 
been blown over with their sails set. Our Capt. as- 
sured us that all board must have inevitably per- 
ished. We passed within a few feet of them and it 



120 WRECKS ON THE CHESAPEAKE. 

was a most distressing spectacle. There was the 
silence of death upon the waters. Sadness pressed 
upon every heart, and was visible upon every brow. 

* * Thou deep and dark blue ocean * ♦ 

Upon the watery plain 

The wrecks are all thy dl-^ed , nor doth remain 
A shadow of man's ravage save his own, 
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain. 
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, 
Without a grave, unknell'd uncoftin'd, and unknown. 

The afternoon of the same day I reached Balti- 
more, having been two days and a night on the 
passage. In a few days in Boston again. 



121 



DOWN EAST AGAIN. 



Ellsicorth — Character of the Inhabitants. Reli- 
gious Condition. Our place of Worship. Pro- 
gress. Lyceum. Odd Events. 

Nine months in the East again. Ellsworth was 
the sphere of my ministerial labors. This town is 
twenty-four miles south-east of Bangor, and plase- 
antly situated on either bank of Union river. I have 
heard it called by a traveller the handsomest town 
on the shore road from Halifax to Boston. All 
towns much larger must not be brought into the com- 
parison. Ellsworth is a small town containing no 
more than fifteen or sixteen hundred inhabitants. Its 
local situation however will not suffer much com- 
pared with that of any of the eastern towns. Along 
the banks of the rapid river are some bold beetling 
crags, and a wild woody eminence on which the 
wigwams of the Penobscot Indians are seen at cer- 
tain seasons of the year, where it would not bo dif- 
ficult to get up a little romantic sensibility. The 
view from some parts of the town of the Schoodic 
hills on the North East, of the broad blue waters of 
Patten's bay and the Mount Desert Chain on the 
South, is such as deeply to impress the imagination 
of the lover of nature. 

The village contains about five hundred inhabi- 
tants and has an appearance of newness. Out of the 

II 



122 CHARACTER OF THE INHABITANTS. 

village the town exhibits all the evidences of long 
settlement. The inhabitants are remarkable for res- 
olution, enterprize, and natural vigor of understand- 
ing. Every thing is taken up with warmth ; and al- 
most all subjects, especially trade, politics and re- 
ligion, give rise to competition — the first two, 
at times, to bitter jealousy and its evil conse- 
quences. The social circle is very good, though 
small. Several families, some of which are from 
Massachusetts, have given considerable attention to 
literary pursuits and would be deemed cultivated any 
where. The inhabitants generally are something 
uncouth and do not appreciate what are denomina- 
ted the humanities of life. Among Eastern towns 
however E*. is not alone in this respect. — When 
I went to E*. there were two religious Societies in 
the place, a Baptist and Trinitarian. Liberal Chris- 
tianity had never been preached, and its character 
was hardly known. The old minister of the Trini- 
tarian Society (who is now" living and is a man of lib- 
eral mind and genuine Christian feelings), though 
not regarded by the Orthodox clergy as perfectly 
sound in the faith, never was an acknowledged Uni- 
tarian. — His successor, who w^as for some years a 
preacher to the seamen in Portland, and whose ur- 
banity, intelligence, and social harmony are still a- 
mong my pleasant recollections, is, I believe, re- 
garded as sound — without blemish and without 
spot. I do not mean by this that he is bigoted — 
far from it. He has too much of the milk of hu- 



OUR PLACE OF WORSHIP. 123 

man kindness in him for that. — Being the first to 
enter the place as the representative of our denomi- 
nation, I expected to meet with much prejudice and 
opposition, and was told that such would be the 
case. To my surprize and very agreeable disap- 
pointment it was not so. The only place for wor- 
ship that could be" obtained at the outset was a 
school-room in the second story of a building near 
the bridge that crosses Union river. Every thing 
that passed over the bridge shook the building and 
pulpit very much and not perceiving the cause at 
first, I thought it was an earthquake. In a few Sab- 
baths we obtained the use of the Baptist Church for 
a little while, and at length removed to the Court 
House which was to be our permanent place of wor- 
ship. This w^as a new building and but partially 
com[)leted. The Society finished the Court-room, 
erecting open pews, a very convenient pulpit and 
and singing-seats, at an expense of five hundred dol- 
lars. The larger part of this sum they expected 
the town would refund. A Sabbath School was 
formed which flourished very well, and a Benevolent 
Society among the ladies — which was the means of 
doing considerable good. A subscription for the 
erection of a church was started at the expiration of 
a few months, and an amount of twenty-seven hun- 
dred dollars easily obtained. 

The Lyceum producing, as is thought, a very fa- 
vorable influence upon the moral and religious as 
well as intellectual character of a people, one was 



124 LYCEUM. 

set in motion. There was a debate or lecture ev- 
ery week. It was continued without intermission 
and without assistance from abroad for a period of 
four or five months, and with an interest and suc- 
cess hardly to be expected. Let it be recollected 
there were but five hundred inhabitants in the vil- 
lage. I have little doubt that an abler Senate might 
have been formed out of the acting members of the 
Lyceum than that at Augusta. 

Neither the audience nor the Sabbath School 
w^as large. Perhaps they were as large however as 
could be expected m a town of this size. Since I 
left the Society has settled a minister and, I be- 
lieve, continues to increase and strengthen. 

Some odd events. — One warm afternoon in Au- 
gust when our service was held in the Baptist 
Church, which is situated on an eminence com- 
manding a view of the village and the country be- 
yond, a somewhat singular event occurred. The 
windows of the church were thrown up and the door 
spread wide to admit the fresh airs of heaven. It 
was a lovely season. The winds were asleep. The 
birds were chanting on the trees, and all was fair and 
tranquil as if ''the bridal of the earth and sky." 
The sermon was finished and the last hymn had just 
been given out, when during that dead pause which 
precedes the swelling forth of the music of the choir, 
a tall young man, in his shirt-sleeves, entered the 
church in a calm and dignified manner, and marched 
up the broad-aisle. I presumed thatj whoever he 



ODD EVENTS. 125 

was, lie would take a seat in one of the pews. But 
no! his mission seemed to be onward. I heard his 
footsteps on the pulpit stairs, and in a moment or two 
he presented himself before me. He reached out 
his hand — I gave him mine. He shook it and 
asked me how I did, then took a seat on the cush- 
ion close beside me. All eyes were turned in a- 
mazement to\^ard3 the pulpit. It was natural I 
should be a little astonished. Though unable to 
comprehend the purpose of this unexpected visiter 
and hardly knowing what to do, I was not discon- 
certed. I turned towards him and gave him a sharp 
look to read, i( possible, his intent in the expression 
of his countenance. He appeared perfectly at home 
and was taking a leisurely survey of the audience 
and choir. I said to him with soriie firmness, im' 
plying no great satisfaction with his presence in the 
pulpit, ' Had n't you better, sir, take a seat in a 
pew below ?' He looked at me for a moment — 
rose — bowed — descended the stairs, and went in- 
to the first wall pew. He remamed there quiet 
through the service and also the exercises of the 
Sabbath School, and then left the house. I was 
somewhat curious to find out who he was and what 
he intended by such sort of conduct, and learned 
that he was a stranger — an unfortunate young man 
- — actuated by no evil purpose, nay, much to be com- 
misserated. Some time before this event, he acci- 
dentally ran something into his foot, which severed 

some of the cords, and ever since he had been sub* 

11* 



126 ODD EVENTS. 

ject to periodical fits of derangement. In one of 
these he had strayed away from home, and passing 
by the open church door and every thing within 
inviting him, he entered without ceremony and made 
for the pulpit to form acquaintance with the preach- 
er and have a fair view of the audience. 

At another time, while preaching an extempora- 
neaus sermon upon the wisdom and goodness of 
God as manifested in the laws and arrangements of 
the Universe, the door of our place of worship was 
thrown open, and in rolled a seaman dressed in the 
insignia of his craft, the tarpaulin hat and pea-jacket. 
He came in with a nonchalant air and a curse-me-if- 
I-care sort of manner, threw his tarpaulin upon the 
seat near the door, and dropped down himself. As 
soon as he entered I perceived that he was the worse 
for something that had found its way to his stomach 
and thence to his brain, and somewhat feared he 
might disturb me in the train of my thoughts, espe- 
cially as I had nothing to rely upon but a few notes. 
The noise he made was considerable, and f paused 
imtil he was quietly seated, and then went on. 
Whatever relates to the heavenly bodies — those 
guiding-lights upon the watery waste — is apt to in- 
terest the way-farer of the deep. I noticed that the 
seaman's attention was engaged. In a short time 
his elbows dropped upon his knees, his face upon 
his hands, and he fixed upon me a pair of the keen- 
est black eyes. In the course of ray remarks the 
subject of the moon's distance, phases, magnitude, 



ODD EVENTS. 127 

time of revolution, and force of gravitation was in- 
troduced. There was an open space in front of the 
seat wliere he sat, making him quite conspicuous. 
All of a sudden he rose up, seized his tarpaulin, 
clapped it upon his head, extended his arms to their 
full length and shouted to the top of his lungs, — 
' Ship-mates — a lunar observation!' — I gave way 
to him and sat down. He was evidently about to 
proceed, but the audience did not seem disposed to 
hear him out, and two of them seized him in the 
height of his celestial enthusiasm, and led him out- 
side the door. It was quite clear they considered 
him something of a lunatic, and wished him to fin- 
ish his lunary in a more suitable place. The floor 
being left to me, I took up the thread of my dis- 
course. The seaman was quite indignant at this, as 

he conceived, uncourteous treatment and in a mo- 
ment or two came back. It was thought best to re- 
move him again and lock the door. He tried it sev- 
eral times without success, then took a turn round 
the house, muttering to himself in hot passion. At 
length some individuals went out and coaxed him 
down the hill into the centre of the village. — Thus 
ended this curious adventure. The next day a lit- 
tle of his history was found out. He proved to be 
a ship-wrecked mariner on his way to the West. 
Passing through town on the Sabbath he had depos- 
ited some of his pittance at a bar-room or tippling- 
shop, and, in sad plight in consequence, had stroll 



128 ODD EVENTS. 

ed up to the house of Him who cannot Jook upon 
sin but with displeasure. 

The incident of the seaman reminds me of an- 
other which occurred in a neighboring town. I 
was preaching a sermon the object of which was 
to give a general view of our faith — to set in as 
clear a light as possible what Liberal Christians be- 
and what they do not believe. In the midst of my 
remarks the stillness of the house was suddenly bro- 
ken by a deep and awful groan. It penetrated to 
the very bottom of my heart. Whence it came, by 
whom it was uttered, and for what purpose, if vol- 
untary, were to me mysterious. It occurred to me 
shortly that there might be some Methodist, 
Baptist, Hopkinsian, or hot-headed partisan present, 
who was shocked at the simplicity and beauty of 
Liberal Christianity, and could not but give vent to 
a horrific groan, such as might come up from the 
tortured bosoms of the lost. It aroused my spirits. 
The truth, thought I, ought to bespoken boldly and 
I was resolved not to be daunted. On I proceeded 
in a louder and deeper tone, and the latter half of 
the discourse was delivered with doubly increased 
life and vigor. After service it was natural for me to 
inquire out the author of this novel interruption and 
the meaning thereof. The explanation w^as a little 
different from what I expected and was somewhat 
amusing. There proved to be a member of the 
society, a rugged worker in iron, subject to uncon- 
trollable fits of gaping. These were accompanied 



ODD EVENTS. 129 

by deep groans of less or greater length, as the case 
might be. It was not the first time the audience 
had been greeted therewith, and they had got in a 
measure accustomed to them. It seemed to me a 
wise suggestion, which I offered partly from a be- 
nevolent feeling towards other clergymen, that the 
gaper be requested to take his seat hereafter next 
the door, that when he perceived his mouth stretch- 
ing wide, he might seize his hat and run for his life. 
Perhaps I shall be excused for mentioning anoth- 
er circumstance, though of a trifling nature, which 
occurred in Hancock, a town but few miles distant 
from Ellsworth. I had been invited to preach an 
evening lecture at this place. It was mid-winter. 
I rode out in a sleigh and put up (for the night) at 
the house of a plain farmer of the old school, who 
had carried the mail in this part of the country on 
foot or horseback for many years. I was surprized 
to learn he was the brother of G. L. Esq., recently 
Mayor of the city of N. York and a remarkable in- 
stance of one, who from the lowest walks of life 
has risen to wealth and distinction. The old far- 
mer told me ho had not seen his brother, until re- 
cently, for forty years. But to return to the ser- 
vice. It was held in a school-house a mile or more 
distant. We rode to it and found It to be a room 
in the back part of a dwelling-house. The audi- 
ence after a while assembled and the the time ior the 
lecture arrived. I was ushered into the apartment. 
There vvas but a single light and that a tallow can- 



130 ODD EVENTS. 

die. Only in the vicinity of this, which stood up- 
on a desk near the fire-place, was the darkness made 
visible. How far the apartment extended back, or 
how much of an audience I had, I knew not. I 
could see but the front line, consisting of men, wo- 
men, and children. To use the flickering flame to 
the best advantage, I took my station in front of the 
desk and commenced the service. All went on tol- 
erably until I got a little into my sermon. By this 
time the sooty wick had become unconscionably 
long, and the darkness of the room began to be in- 
visible. There were no snuffers. The crisis was 
at hand and something must be done without delay. 
So I called upon the audienee for snuffers. After 
some bustle they were produced. I snuffed the 
candle and went on. I had not proceeded far when 
one of the children got loose from its mother's arms, 
ran up to me, seized me by the knees and, raising 
itself on tip-toe, looked me earnestly in the face, as 
much as to say, ' Do take me — do take me.' It 
was no time to play with children, so on I preach- 
ed with as much composure as I could. The child 
continued playing about me for some time, unmo- 
lested by mother, myself, or any part of the audi- 
ence, and at length tottered back whence it came. 
After the lecture I was informed that the number of 
my hearers was about sixty, and that many who had 
never heard one of our denomination preach, had 
come a distance of several miles, 



DEA.TH WITHOUT WARNING. 131 

* Watch therefore, for ye know not what hour your 
Lord doth come. ' 

Perhaps the reader may be willing by this time 
to turn from incidents of an amusing to one of a se- 
rious character. 

The changes of the world and the uncertainty of 
life have ever been themes of solemn declamation 
and warning. Reposing on the lap of prosperity 
and buoyed up by the joyous spirit of health it is 
difficult for us to realize these unquestioned and un- 
questionable truths. We are told that we know not 
what a day may bring forth, and yet we lay our plans 
and anticipate such and such issues almost with cer- 
tainty. The events of every day are, as it were, 
mapped out before our vision, and we feel very 
much as if we had the determination and arrange- 
gement of all things in our hands. We seem to be 
unaware that all changes and events are under the 
direction of superior intelligence, that our own times 
are at the disposal of him who called us into exist- 
ence. 

We are veiy likely to say to ourselves the follow- 
ing, or something similar : 'To-day or to-morrow 
we will go into such a city and continue there a year 
and buy and sell and get gain ;' whereas, in the 
language of the apostle, ' we know not what shall 
be on the morrow, for what is our life ? It is even 
a vapor.' We should, as the apostle \Aouldhave 
us, recognize the providence of God. We should 
bear in mind that life is uncertain and that we can- 



132 DEATH WITHOUT WARNING. 

not count with any assurance upon a succession of 
years, or months, or even days. This should be 
the language of our lips — ' If the Lord will, we shall 
live, and do this, or that.' 

These thoughts have been suggested to my mind 
by an event of melancholy interest. 

The circumstances were of that nature that I can- 
not but feel myself justified in alluding to ihem in a 
public manner. It is not however my intention to 
flatter the deceased, or even to discuss the elements 
of his character, but to contemplate the manner of 
his death and indulge in those reflections which 
naturally arise. If those who read derive any spir- 
itual benefit from the contemplation of this event, 
the purpose for which it is introduced will be an- 
swered. I trust the privilege will be granted me 
of a somewhat minute narration. 

On Saturday, 14th October, 1837, I went to 
Scituate. The clergyman of the Parish being ab- 
sent with his family on a visit to Connecticut, ac- 
commodations were provided for me at the resi- 
dence of Dr. Otis, the principal physician of the 
place. Some years previous I had been at his 
house, and of course did not feel myself to be a 
perfect stranger. He received me in that cordial 
and hospitable manner for which he was distinguish- 
ed. He had been indisposed for a few days from 
a disorder common to the season, but now consid- 
ered himself as about recovered. This disorder 
was altogether independent of that which so sud- 



©EATH WITHOUT WARNING. 133 

denly brought him to his end. His countenance in- 
dicated health and the enjoyment of hfe. I remark- 
ed to him, in the course of the conversation that his 
aspect was that of one who had been favored with 
good heahh. ' Yes,' said he, 'I have been highly 
favored, and I ouglit to be grateful. Since I com- 
mence J the practice of physic — whicli is forty-five 
years — I have never been prevented by indisposi- 
tion from visiting my patients day and niglit. I have 
never been really sick.' ' Very remarkable indeed,' 
I rej)lied. ' You have been truly favored.' He 
further observed, ' I have been in the practice so 
long I have got tired of it. It is no object to me, and 
i[ I find my health at all affected hereafter, I shall 
give up the most of my business.^ He retired for 
the night in good season, and early in the morning 
was called to visit a patient. He went, and seemed 
to be perfectly well when he returned, and contin- 
ued so through the day. During the evening he 
was in uncommonly good spirits, conversed with 
great freedom on a variety of subjects, and was al- 
ternately playful and serious. In the course of the 
evening he had much to say about the old English 
worthies in literature, and sent his daughter for a 
copy of Goldsmith's essays and poems. He read 
aloud to me the ' Retaliation ', in which are con- 
tained the portraits of various literary characters of 
distinction. He read with peculiar interest, and re- 
read the descriptions of the character of Burke, 
Richard Cumbeiland, David Garrick, Sir Joshua 

12 



134 DEATH WITHOUT WARNING. 

Reynolds, and Dr. Douglas. He finished by a 
recitation of the poetical epistle to Lord Clare on 
the reception from him of a haunch of venison. 
This piece is somewhat humorous and satirical. He 
read in a loud tone and with great zest. In reading 
he was obliged to assume different characters, and 
his voice admitting of much variety and compass, he 
succeeded to my admiration. Such spirited and 
correct recitation, and from one who had nearly 
reached three-score years and ten, was altogether 
surprizing. The tones of his clear and sonorous 
voice still ring in my ears. As I gazed at him — ' 
all life and action — his clear and spacious browun- 
wrinkled by care or age — his tall and majestic 
form, as erect and vigorous as when the airs of youth 
played around him — I could not but say to myself, 
here is a man that will withstand the tempests ol life 
for many years. If any are likely to reach a good 
old age, it is he now before me. His locks are 
grey, but time will have an opportunity to whiten 
them. It will be years before he wrinkles that cheer- 
ful brow, or bends that lofty frame. It will be long 
before the silver cord is loosed and the golden bowl 
broken. — He had sent word to one of his neidi- 
bors that if he went to Boston in the morning and 
had time to call, he wished much to see him. At 
half past nine he retired perfectly w^ell, and awoke 
perfectly well. He said to his wife, ' I feel so well 
that I have a mind to go to Boston to-day.' Be- 
tween seven and eight he arose, and as his ward? 



DEATH WITHOUT WARNING. 135 

robe was nearly completed, he suddenly fell his length 
upon the floor. It was a fall from which he never 
arose. The swift dart of death had pierced him 
through the heart. 

He was alone. I was in the room beneath stand- 
ing by the window and, what is remarkable enough, 
perusing some of those passages which he had reci- 
ted so admirably the night before. The (aW was 
heavy. A groan immediately follow^ed and all was 
still. Of the extent of the calamity I did not dream. 
— Perhaps some one had leaped, or fallen from a 
chair and got hurt a little. In a few minutes the 
cry of death reached my ears, and the shriek of ag- 
ony resounded through the apartments. I ascended 
the stairs to the room above, and there lay that no- 
ble form in the arms of women, whose eyes dropt 
tears of deepest sorrow. The struggle seemed to 
be over, and the shadows of death to have descend- 
ed upon him. He spake not. He moved not. His 
eyes rolled heavy and lustreless in their sockets. 
We replaced him on his couch. I felt his pulse. 
It was gone. I placed my hand upon his brow. It 
was yet warm with life. The vital spark however 
had flown, and no physician's art could rekindle or 
recall it. 

* The agony is o'er ; nature her debt 

Has paid : the earth is covered with a clay 

That once was animate, and even yet 

Is warm with an existence reft away 

By Him who gave. It were but yesterday 

This clay peopled a happy universe 



tS6 DEATH WITHOUT WARNING. 

With beings buoyant^^ beautiful amd gay. 
Bat now^alas !' 

He lies struck with instantaneous death — the flame 
of life extinguished before he could 'utter one re- 
gret for life — one thought for his family — one 
prayer to God.' She, but just a widow, falls upon 
his face and wets it with scalding tears. ' And can 

it be ? 0, that I had come to you a moment sooner!; 
0, that you could have spoken to me but a word.' 
But let me not trespass upon private sorrow. The sad 
tidings ran through the village, and friend and neigh- 
bor came, one after another, to the house of mourn- 
ing. The universal salutation, * how sudden! how 
awful!' The universal sentiment, 'A skillful healer of 
disease — a rescuer of his fellow-men from death — 
a man of opulence and distinguished for his public ca- 
reer — an ardent friend to religion — a father of the 
town has been struck from existence, as it were, by 
fire from Heaven. A great man has fallen this day in 
Israel.' —To him may be applied with peculiar ap- 
propriateness and truth these lines from a hymn to 
death by one of our most spiritual poets. They 
seem to be written for his epitaph. 

Oh, cut off 
Untimely! when thy reason in its strength. 
Ripened by years of toil and studious search. 
And watch of nature's silent lessons, taught 

Thy hand to practice best the leni«nt art! 

* * * * 

* * Tears were in unyielding eyes 

And on hard cheeks, and they who deemed thy skill 
Delayed their death-hour, shuddered and lurned pale. 
When thou wert gone^ 



DEATH WITHOUT WARNING. 137 

We know not what shall be on the morrow ; for 
what is our life ? It is a vapor which appeareth for 
a little time then vanisheth away. Little did I think 
to be called to witness so dark a picture in human 
life, to pass through so sad an experience when I 
left my residence. I hope however I brought back 
a lesson both for myself and others. Reader, trust not 
tomorrow. You know not what tomorrow may bring 
forth. Be not over-anxious for the things of this 
life. You may not live to enjoy them. This night 
thy soul may be required of thee. Prepare for death 
while in life, for in life you are in the midst of death. 
' Be wise to-day — 'tis madness to defer.' Mid 
is the accepted time, now is the day of salvation. 

12* 



138 

NORTH RIVER, 



fVest Point. Hyde Park. Catskill Mountains. 
Jllligators^ so called. *.Qthens. Hudson. Kin- 
derhook. Jllhany. Saratoga Springs. Over 
the JMountains home. 

The latter part of the sumnier of — in company 
with a friend I took a trip to New York, up the 
North River to Saratoga Springs, and over the 
Green Mountains home. On the river Weehaw- 
ken, where General HamiUon received his death- 
wound — the Palisadoes witli Fort Lee perched up- 
on their summit — Tappan and Haverstravv Bay, 
with their romantic associations — the sublime scen- 
ery of the Highlands and West Point — that im- 
pregnable fortress — the scene of Arnold's conspir- 
acy — all, it is needless to say, excited in us the 
deepest interest. West Point, where we made our 
first stop, is so well known and has been so well de- 
scribed that it would be presumptuous in me to at- 
tempt anything more than an allusion to its various 
objects of attraction. These are (to say nought of 
the splendid Hotel — the various Government buil- 
dings QxuX the wild picturesque scenery) the famous 
:^ard.en, or retreat of Kosciusko — the marble mon- 
ument erected to his memory ; one of the chastest 
ffi America — a monument to the memory of Col- 
onel Wood who was killed while heading a 
charge at the sortie from Fort Erie — another to 



WEST POINT. 139 

that of a certain cadet who was killed while breast- 
ing a cannon on the Green — and Fort Putnam tow- 
ering above you near six hundred feet. 1 ought not 
to forget the morning and evening Parade — the« 
illuminated camps at night, and the soul-siirring mu- 
sic of the U. States band. Thirty cadets are on 
guard in the day and ten at night. They are relieved 
every two hours atnight, and,if they sleepon guard^ 
are expelled. They are on camp duty two months 
of the year and the remaining ten are stationed in 
the Barracks. These are large brick buildingS5like 
ourColleges which are guarded as well as the camps. 
Each 0adet is an expense to Government of three 
hundred and thirty-six dollars yearly. Two hundred 
and fifty of them are admitted at a time at an ex" 
pense of $84,000. 

We left WestPoint casting a lingering look behind* 
The hills known by the poetical appellations of 
Bull's Head — Break-Neck — Crows' Nest — and 
Butter's Hill soon look down upon us on either 
shore. Thirty miles from W*.P*. Hyde Park, on 
the East side of the river, breaks upon the view m 
a place never to be forgotten — with its swells of 
living green, its superb array of trees, and its 
princely dwellings. In about two hours we reached 
the foot of the Catskil Mountains. The highest 
of these Mountains is from three to four thousand 
feet in height. We rode, or rather walked and 
rode from the village to Pine Orchard — a distance 
of some twelve miles. In this are included the 



140 CATSKILL MOUNTAINS. 

three miles of ascent from the base to the summit 
of the mountain, for Pine Orchard is on the summit. 
Halfway up we stopped at a shanty to quench our 
thirst with the cool water of a spring. Here my 
eye caught the following inscription : 

Rip Van Winkle will frankly own, 

That drinking water all alone. 

Although it makes folks comfortable. 

Is not to him so profitable, 

And hopes those who for conscience sake 

A drop of liquor dare not take. 

Who stop for water as they pass, 

Will pay ihrntprnf the boy who brings the glass. 

On the summit there is extensive Hotel erected 
at great expense by an incorporated company. It 
is twenty two hundred feet above the level of the 
Hudson. It is enough for me to say of the prospect 
from this spot, as it has been often described, 
that in extent and variety it hardly has its equal in 
the country. The Falls, which impart to this place 
its chief interest, are tw^o miles from the Hotel. 
There are two, one directly beneath the other. The 
first is one hundred and seventy-five feet — the sec- 
ond eighty -five — making in reality one of two hun- 
dred and sixty feet. The Platform between the 
Falls is wide, allowing a person to pass under- 
neath, back of the second fall, no less than seven- 
ty feet. The guide informed us that to the lowest 
point of the bed of the river it was three hundred 
and ten feet. It will be recollected that Niagara 
measures but 164 feet on the American side andpQ 



ALLIGATORS SO CALLED. 141 

more than 158 on the English. However thequan- 
jity of water at Catskil is comparatively small. The 
peculiar character of the Falls — the wild, rocky, 
and almost bottomless ravine into which the waters 
descend und disappear — and the striking amphithe- 
atre of woody hills, which seems intended as a guard 
i^mm against intrusion, render them an object of no 
common attraction to the man of cultivated taste 
and poetic imagination. 

On our way to them through the forests we cap- 
tured two harmless gold-spotted lizards — alligatois, 
as my friend called them. Not doubting they were 
as dangerous to handle as the alligators of the Mis- 
sissippi, we approached them with singular caution. 
We took them captive by a process that deserves 
notice. We procured a long straw, tied a loop ia 
the middle, and each holding an end, approached 
the little innocent creatures with a wariness truly 
laughable. We placed the loop before one of 
them. Slowly he moved himself along and at length, 
as we watched him with intensest gaze, he put his 
head within. We pulled stoutly. The poor thing 
breathed but a moment and all was over. In this 
manner we triumphantly secured both the formida- 
ble beasts. It was a bold and perilous adventure. 
The world will not be witness to the like agam. — 
But adieu to Mountains, Falls, andAlligators. 

The next morning we descended and took the 
boat for Albany. Athens and Hudson are the only 
places of any interest along the banks of the river 



142 ATHENS — HUDSON ALBANY. 

between W*. P*. and Albany. Atbens is a small 
town, but attracts tbe eye by several beautiful coun- 
try seats. Hudson is a city, and contained in 1830 
more than five thousand inhabitants. It is very fa- 
vorably situated for manufactories and has many 
erected on the creeks in the vicinity. Kinderhook, 
the birth-place or residence of the President of the 
U. S., is a few miles above Hudson. 

At Albany. — When the boat came along-side the 
wharf we nearly lost ourselves, as well as bag and 
baggage, amidst the crowd of porters, coachmen, 
bystanders, and passengers. However we succeed- 
ed at length in reaching the Mansion House where 
we were well served and well pleased. Albany 
is a city not much ' liked of J as the country peo- 
ple say, by strangers.jfifotwithstanding it won amazing- 
ly upon our good graces, and in a short time. We 
were so fortunate as to meet with many pleasant 
people — not travelling gentry, but inhabitants of the 
place — some of honest Dutch lineage. Then the 
State House, the City Hall, the noble Seminary, 
the Basin, the multitude of large and comfort- 
able Hotels, the Museum, the Mineral Spring, 
the old Dutch structure, with its bull-dog knocker, 
where La Fayette was quartered in the revolution 
the bustle of business and of pleasure — these 
contributed to awaken feelings of interest. Then 
too it was delightful weather. The sun shone bright, 
but not sultry,and all went merry as a marriage bell. 

On the road to Troy (which is perhaps the best 



SARATOGA SPRINGS. 143 

in tlie States) we were pleased with the appearance 
of Gen. Van Rensselaer's mansion and the United 
States' Arsenal. 

Troy. — A fine city. Few have the preference 
according to my taste. J wish I had room to say 
more. 

Saratoga Springs. — At the United States Hotel. 
Crowded. No less than two hundred names on the 
books. All calling themselves fashionable, or anx- 
ious to be so called. Of the sick I say nothing, 
for I have no recollection of seeing any. The 
country in the vicinity is poor and dreary. Though 
it is well enough to visit Saratoga for once, to taste 
the waters of the Springs and see the various sorts 
of people in this world, it is in itself a dull place, 
and one must be on the wing, soon or that imp of the 
evil spirit —ennui —will have hold of him. High 
Rock Spring is a great curiosity. Congress-water 
is bottled at the rate of twenty-five ^ross a week and 
sent to all parts of the Union and into foreign coun- 
tries. At the time I was in S". it was sold at ^1,7.5 
by the dozen. 

We returned over the Mountains home ; and a 
more fatiguing jaunt I have never taken. Some of 
the towns we passed through were Schuylersville, 
Arcansaw, Cambridge, .Salem, Arlington, Sunder- 
land, Manchester, Winhall, Peru, Londonderry, 
Weston, Andover, Chester, Bellows' Falls, &c. — 
It seems from the names of the towns as if Massa- 
chusetts had been transplanted to Vermont. 



144 

WESTWARD. 



JMeadvillt. Jin adventure in tlie wilderness. A log 
cabin. An lionest JJulchman. Bats in the at- 
tic. J\Iy sleeping room. JYovel breakfast. A 
slasrc load. iJisiinmdrJied honor. Dutch wis- 
dom^ curiosity., and perseverance. An awkward 
sow. The Moral of the Tale. Pittsburg. Al- 
legany Mountains. Tornado. Bedford Springs. 
Fredericktown. 

On a second trip up the Hudson, in company 
with a friend, I left Albany for the Falls of Ni- 
agara. It would l)c useless for tno to say any- 
thing of Schenectady, Utica, Trenton-Falls, the 
Montezuma Marshes, Geneva, Canandaigua, Roch- 
ester, still more of the great, wonder of the world, 
for the reason I have given heretofore, that they 
have been described many times and infin tely better 
than is in my power. It is sufficient to say that no 
one who can muster the wherewithal to vi::it them, 
should stay at home. Fj-om theFalls we went to Buf- 
falo and there took steamboat on Lake Krie for the 
town of Erie. Thence we proceeded to Meadville 
— where we passed the Sabbath. Here we found 
an old acquaintance and friend a member of the 
same ])rofession with ourselves — one who had been 
an associate in Theological studies — wasted to a 
skeleton by the fever of the country and laid upon 
the bed of his last sickness. It was but a few weeks 



AN ADVENTURE IN THE WILDERNESS. 145 

before that we had seen him in Cambridge in good 
health. At the first glance I perceived the seal of 
death upon his countenance, and not long after we 
bade him a final and heart-rending adieu, we received 
the tidings of his departure, I tiust, to a better and 
happier world.* On our way from Meadville to 
Pittsburg is laid the scene of an occurrence which 
I shall relate if it is in my power. We left Mercer 
(I think it was) in the stage for P"*^ early in the 
evening after we had taken supper. It was cloudy 
and dark, and the roads were in a desperately bad 
state. At first we hesitated about starting, and for 
myself I regretted afterwards that we did. The 
driver told us he should have his lanterns light- 
ed and assured us we should go on safely. We 
found the roads, if anything, worse than wa ex])cct- 
ed. The blackest pall of night gradually descended 
upon us, and what was not the least evil of all, 
the Wzhis for some reason or other went out. The 
peril was such that the horses could not proceed 
faster than a walk. The driver stopped once or 
twice to light up, but did not succeed. There was 
no probability of our getting ahead more than twen- 
ty miles if we travelled all night. As to sleep, or 
anything different from a state of perpetual anxiety, 
it was out of the question, at least, as regarded my- 
self. My companion was one not subject to agita- 

♦ My companion, sad to tell, has since followed him. He died 
within a short time, in the West Indies, whither he had gone 
Ee«king health. 

13 



146 AN HONEST DUTCHMAN. 

tion or alarm, and could sleep soundly, if need were, 
on the top-gallant yards of a main-ntiast. He was 
lor going on — I was ' clean the contrary.' How- 
ever we agreed to disagree. He was to have his 
way, I mine ; but we engaged to meet again at 
Pittsburg. The driver was requested to leave me 
on the way, wherever there was a chance of my be- 
ing taken care of for the night. After poking through 
the dark for a few miles and pitching into numberless 
mud-holes, he came to a halt and informed me that 
we had reached a place for the wayfarer. ' What 
sort of a place ?' I asked. ' A log cabin.' 'Who 
lives in It ? an honest man ?' ' Yes, a right honest 
Dutchman.' 'Well, you must rouse him and let 
him know what's coming.' It was late and the 
Dutchman — wife, children and all — was a-bed. The 
door was, as usual, unfastened. The driver enter- 
ed without knocking and notified my host. He was 
up in a trice and was looking about for his panta- 
loons. ' No matter for them,' exclaimed my pion- 
eer who was in somewhat of a hurry. Luckily they 
were found, and soon issued forth the dapper man in 
his pants of grey. He greeted me with such an open, 
downright manner that I felt all confidence in him 
at once, though in the depths of the forest and 
miles from any other human dwelling. I expressed 
some anxiety that my baggage should be out of 
harm's way. He said he would take it into his 
own sleeping-room and there it would be safe. I 
told him I was tired and wished to go to bed im- 



BATS IN THE ATTIC. 147 

mediately. He took a bit of candle to light me. 
And where do you think he lighted me ? Up the 
rounds of a totllish ladder into the loft of his cabin. 
As he was leading the way to my resting place, a 
large bat flew by within a few inches of my face. 
'What!' I exclaimed, 'do you have bats here ?' 
' Yes,' said he, ' a plenty. But we never mind 
them.' 'Don't mind them ? Well, if yoit don't mind 
them, there is no reason why /should.' There was 
just light enough from his candle to perceive 
that there was no window and that there was 
another bed close to mine with somebody in it. 
Said I, ' You have got some personage here within 
arm's length of me. I should like to know who 
it is, as I am not in the habit of sleeping where there 
are strangers.' ' 0,' said he, ' that's one of my 
sons. You need have no fears of him. I'll bail ye 
for him —he is an honest fellow.' ' But you have 
no windows here — I never shall know when to get 
up.' ' We can rouse ye,' he replied. In a short 
time my host left me and I found my way after some 
effort between the sheets which felt about as soft as 
crash-towel. Notwithstanding this inconvenience I 
slept soundly. When I awoke the next morning, 
my room-mate had disappeared. It was late, as I ex- 
pected it would be. I might have slept all day, had 
it not been for wide cracks between boards nailed 
over an opening at the head of my bed. I b stirred 
myself, and when apparelled thought it would he well 
to take a view of the premises before leaving them. 



148 A WAY TO GET ALONG. 

The loft seemed to be the place of deposit for all 
valuables — the Dutchman's bank. Here was a 
pile of one sort of grain — there of another. Here 
was wool carded and uncarded — there was an old 
spinning wheel, &c. There was variety enough to 
remind one of a ' Fair. ' As soon as I had dropped 
myself down all eyes were fixed upon me. My host 
and wife, with their bevy of bare-looted chil - 
dren, girls and boys, stared at me with the most 
insatiate curiosity. To meet their gaze required 
more of a face of brass than I happened to be blessed 
with. The plague of it was •— a young man in 
black, with spectacles on nose, and all. My first 
object was to to ascertain if there was a prospect of 
my getting a conveyance towards P*. I inquired 
of my landlord. He did not know of any. ' Can't I 
get a horse and wagon somewhere about?' ' I have 
no neighbors,' said he ; ' there is no house within 
six miles.' ' Perhaps you can help me on a piece.' 
• I don't see how I can. It is a very busy time 
with me. My horse I use every day on my land.' 
' But I must go on in some way. As for stopping 
here all day and taking the stage at night, I cannot 
think of it. As like as not I should be in no better 
predicament than I was last night. You must carry 
me on if you possibly can. You shall be no loser.* 
He thought awhile. At length he said, ' I am wil- 
ling to take you on to a certain village — twenty -four 
miles distant — for so much.' ' Very well,' said I, 
^ harness up and let us be off, for I jvm in haste. 



NOVEL BREAKFAST. 149 

But before I start i must have something to eat.' 
'Yes,' said he, ' I suppose you will want baiting.^ 
My meal was soon on the table. It was a perfect 
unique. Read with care, ye who fare sumptuous- 
ly ! A decoction of something, I know not what, 
called tea ; sour bread; no butter ; but instead there- 
of a big pickle, full a^ big as one's wrist. My land- 
lady, not so comely, took a seat beside me with a 
leafy twig to keep off the flies. She was one that 
in tlie days of witchcraft would ha\'e been seized and 
hung. My appetite was keen and iny only alteina- 
tive was to eat what was before me, oi' go without. 
So I made up my mind to it and did the best I could. 
I should have had no lasting association but of an 
amusing character widi this breakfast in the wilder- 
ness, had it not been for the discord that soon sprung 
up between my stomach and the strange medley 
there deposited. — All ready for a start. Horse and 
wagon, or, as they were called, donkey and dear- 
born at tlie door. — My landlord, dressed in his 
best grey suit and broad-brimmed white hat, and 
equipped with a shining whip-stick and leather 
thong. On inquiring I found th.at the harness and 
wagon-body, which were unpainted, were made 
by himself and sons. The Dutchman said his wife 
wished to take passage with us some ten miles to vis- 
it her relations. 'Why, 'said I, 'my baggage fills one 
half of the wagon and there is but one seat. Where 
will you put her ?' ' 0, I'll fix it right,' he replied. 
'I have a board to put in front ; that I'll set on rrjV'n 



150 DUTCH WISDOM, 

self, and you shall have a seat with my wife.' That 
's a good oiT-e, methought. Such a beauty and no 
jealousy ! My thanks, good man, for such a dis- 
tinguished favor. Of course I was all attention to 
my lady, handed her to her seat with great care, and 
then placed myself beside her. Our coachman was 
on his box in a few moments and off we drove. 
My host was much pleased with his new situation, 
talked much, and with no little jovialty. He seemed 
to know every body on the road. All had a word 
for him and he a word for them. ' My name,' said 
he 'is Sager. Every body knows me I have kept 
a house of entertainment so long, and they call me 
everywhere, 'old Sager.' I am known to be hon- 
est and dacent.' We stopped after a few miles 
ride, to water our donkey. ' Well, Sager, you 
have turned stage-driver, have n't ye .'" shouted some 
one of his old acquaintance. ' Yes,' says the old 
man, ' I carries passengers when I can get the right 
sort.' — We are on the move again. Very curious 
and sagacious were his remarks upon religion, med- 
icine, and law. I have ever regretted that I did not 
put them down word for word. They are a great 
loss to the world! Here are a few scraps: ' It 
wont do for all to be rich, or all to be poor. The 
rich will not ask for favors — the poor cannot con- 
fer them.' Speaking of his horse, ' There is no 
scrupling his goodness.' Of a certain family 'They 
are dreadful kindly — terrible kindly people.' 'He 
liked to have friends come and make him ivisits^ but 



CURIOSITY AND PERSEVERANCE. 151 

not to diink.' — 'He had lived with his wife twenty- 
aine years and there had not been twenty hard words 
between thein.' — 'No notion of ministers' families 
not working as well ns others.' 'There is one ques- 
tion,' said he, ' that I want to ask you, if you won't 
be put out.' ' You are at liberty,' said I, ' if it is a 
proper question.' ' I want to know which profes- 
sion you belong to ?' ' Which do you suppose.^' 
' A doctor ?' ' No, I guess not.' ' Lawyer, then.'" 
' No, I can't make my mind up to that.' 'I must 
be a minister then ?' ' Yes, I rather think so. 
You are as good as a Yankee at a guess, my friend. 
You have hit the nail on the head.' He said he 
made it a point of conscience to j)ay five dollars to 
the minister yearly ; that he sent his children to 
school as much as he possibly could, and made them 
learn both Dutch and En2;lish. Various Dutch 
pamphlets I remember hurg around the walls ofhis 
cabin. He told me he was raises/ near Philadelphia, 
and came into this part of the country poor and with 
a large family of children ; that he planted himself 
in the forest not far from where he now lived, 
built him a log hut with but one apartment for his 
whole family and lived upon dry bread many a day; 
after a while he removed to a new house and open- 
ed it for one of entertainment, and had got along so 
well in the world that he thought of retiring from 
business, or giving it up to his son and building him- 
self another house on the opposite side of the road. 

Much success to you, my honest Dutchman, though 
1 indulge a smile. 



152 AN AWKWARD SOW. 

After we had proceeded ten miles his wife, to 
my no small relief and joy, resigned her place and 
struck across the fields to find her relations. The 
forward seat was now removed, and the old man and 
myself became nearer friends. Going down hill 
his horse, who was rather a careless traveller, occa- 
sionally stumbled. ' My friend,' said I, ' you must 
pull up your horse on these sharp pitches, or he 
will be down on all fours before you think of it, 
snapping your thills and harnesss.' 'He must 
look out for himself,' said the old man, ' I have as 
much as I can do to take care of myself.' Abou^ 
fifteen minutes after, as we were descending a hill, 
headlong plunged the donkey, coming down on 
the shaft with his whole weight. I was out in a 
moment. As soon as the old gentleman got safely 
out — the process of which consumed no little time 
— he trotted up to his beast, gave him a ringing 
slap on the cheek and addressed him thus : ' You 
awkward sow, you ! What possessed ye to fall 
down ?' We unharnessed the poor thing as quick 
as possible — got him up, and to our astonishment 
found he had broken neither harness nor thills. ■ — 
We put all things to rights in a short time, and, 
as experience teaches caution, the old man kept 
him up on his feet through the rest of the journey. 

Nothing especiall}' worthy of note happened af- 
terwards. Towards the latter part of die afternoon 
I reached my destination. ' Old Sager ' thought 
he must retum part of the way before night-fall, sp 



PITTSBURG. 153 

I paid him and we parted like old friends — never 
probably to see each other again. However the 
old man may rest assured that his i^ood humour — 
downright sincerity and curious sagacity will ever be 
a delightful remembrance — an oasiis in the desert 
of life. From this incident I derived more pleas- 
ure and real profit than from any that occurred in the 
whole journey. Ye proud, here learn a lesson of 
humility, — A log-house in a wilderness is not to 
be despised. 

On my way to Pittsburg one of the wheel-horses 
of the stage fell on the brow of a hill and was drag- 
ged some distance down the gravelly descent gor- 
ing his side badly. Poor lellow ! It could not 
be prevented. It was one of the inevitable evils 
of this sublunary sphere. 

In Pittsburg — at the Eagle Hotel. Glad to meet 
again my travelling companion. The wooc'ed and 
precipitous hills near P*, the road winding along 
the banks oi the transparent Alleghany, and the si- 
lent confluence of the latter with the Monongahela, 
the multitude of Western and other steamboats ly- 
ing side by side in goodly array, the enormous wag- 
ons drawn by four or six gigantic horses, the coal- 
pits in the sides of the adjacent hills, and the Ba^ 
bel tongues of every tribe and nation impart to this 
city a somewhat peculiar character and inteiest. 
It is however on the whole a dismal place — ■ a black 
spot. The cholera had been raging and but a few 
days before several had died of this disease in the 



154 ALLEGHANY MOUNTAINS. 

very house where we took lodgings. We were 
anxious on this account to leave the city as soon 
as possible, and the next morning long ere 
day, took the stage for Bedford Springs situated 
near the southern line of Pennsylvania. We cross- 
ed the highest summit of the Alleghany Mountains 
at midnight — a thousand stars twinkling brightly o- 
ver us. The ascent and descent w^ere severally 
five miles. As soon as we turned the summit, we 
were whirled at a rapid rate along the brink of pre- 
cipices hundreds of feet in perpendicular height. 
It was too perilous and dizzying to look out. Our 
horses and driver were well trained and we met with 
no accident. The next morning ere we had left the 
mountains ' a storm-blast came raging through the 
air.' Such an one can only be witnessed in such a 
place. The wind was a genuine tornado. It seem- 
ed as though it would take the carriage off the 
wheels. The earth w^as caught up from the roads 
in clouds, and tall sturdy forest trees bent like sap- 
lings. The rain came down like a river emptied 
upon us. The lightning filled the heavens with a 
perfect blaze and the thunder reverberated among 
the hills with terrific peals. The coachman thought 
it best to come to a stand as soon as possible, and 
we found refuge in a traveller's home of this solita- 
ry region until the storm had passed by. 

Bedford Springs — a great place of resort. There 
are not so many hotels, nor are they so spacious as 



BEDFORD SPRINGS. 155 

at Saratoga, but the scenery is wild and ronnantic, 
which cannot be said in any sense of the latter place. 
From the Springs the first place of any note that 
we reached was liagerstown. Then came Fred- 
eric or Frederick-town. Here we spent a part of 
the Sabbath. It was a sunny day and the blacks in 
their best attire thronged the streets on their way to 
church. One waited upon me at the hotel and an 
elegant fellow he was of some twenty-four years of 
age and as much of a gentleman as I ever met with. 
I conceived quite a penchant for him and could not 
but slip a piece of silver into his hand, though told 
it was prohibited by law. At this place we took 
the rail-cars, drawn by horses to Baltimore — dis- 
tant sixty miles — where we arrived safely in about 
seven hours. From B*. we steam-boated and rail- 
cared to Boston. This route has been made famil- 
iar. So farewell to thee, reader, until I lake a start 
in some new direction, when I hope for thy com- 
pany again. 



156 

NEWPORT. 



C***, August, 18 — . 
Dear Friend, 

I HAVE been at Newport and spent a little 
time. It is a lovely place in Summer. There are 
two very fine beaches — some thnik — the finest in 
New England. They are near each other and 
are beautifully curved, like the arcs of a circle. A 
rock, designated as the Spouting Rock, is one of 
some curiosity. The tide-water rushes underneath 
some distance and through a hole upwards at 
times spouts to the height of thirty or forty feet. It 
is a magnificent sight after a storm. While on the 
Island I made a journey to Paradise and Purgato- 
ry, and was highly pleased with them, the latter 
as well as the former. Paradise is a spot exceed- 
ingly romantic — about a mile from one of the shores. 
A ridge of rock of considerable height extends a 
half a mile and on one side there is a foot or car- 
riage path running between ranges of trees and com- 
pletely embowered. I counted two hundred and 
fifty-two in a line. — Purgatory is a most singular 
and unaccountable chasm formed in a mountainous 
rock upon the sea-shore, from eight to ten feet 
broad, one hundred feet deep, and more than an 
hundred feet long. It looks as if cut by a sharp and 
powerful instrument wielded by giants. Into this 
cavity the sea pours with a voice of thunder. In 



NEWPORT, J 57 

such a purgatory one might be washed thorough- 
ly of the pollution of the flesh in a very short time. 
Fort Adams, where Government has expended a 
milhon and a half of dollars, upon a fortification, is 
well worth a visit. The Jewish Synagogue and 
Cemetery attract attention ; also a curious relic 
of antiquity, whose mystery is yet unsolved — a 
circular structure of stone mason-work builtj upon 
several lofty arches. The height thereof may be 
twenty-five feet. Newport is a place of some ten 
thousand inhabitants, and has as many or more chur- 
ches. Dr. Channing has a seat in the central part 
of the Island. The Dr. most unfortunately was not 
at home when I called. I however took the liber- 
ty of viewing his place. It is a delightful retreat in 
summer from the heat and dust of the city. The 
mansion has an air of antiquity. The garden though 
not extensive, has its attractions, and the fields adja- 
cent are covered with fruit-trees. While on the 
spot a young deer, as tame as a cosset, came run- 
ning towards me and played various antics for my 
amusement. A large and handsome dog of a kind- 
ly disposition seemed to have the guardianship of 
the premises. I could say more, but I have said 
enough to give you an idea of N*. 

Yours truly. 
14 



158 

POVERTY NOT MISERY. 



A MILE out of the town of N crossing from 

the old to the new Concord road. The walk w^as 
rural, being mostly through woods, but unrelieved 
by any human habitation. At a distance in advance 
of me I saw two most haggish-looking creatures. 
Supposing they might be Irish stragglers I did not 
care to trust myself with them. A few steps ahead 
I discovered a boy sitting by the way-side with 
a basket of greens and asked him if those people 
were town's people, or not. He said they were 
and lived in the vicinity. So walked on with re- 
newed courage Upon coming up whh them and 
perceiving they had baskets and some dandelions 
therein, I accosted them — ' Do you find dandeli- 
ons plenty ?^ They replied, 'No — not so many 
as we expected.' ' Do you gather them to sell.'^' 
One of them said, ' I sometimes sell — sometimes 
not.' The other, ' I never pick but for myself.' 
Nodding to them I passed on to the summit of the hill 
before me and there caught sight not far from the road- 
side of the only tree in blossom, which was extreme- 
ly beautiful. I stopped until they reached me to make 
inquiry. 'It is the wild plum-tree.' Before I pro- 
ceed farther, let me say that my informers were fe- 
males, from forty to sixty years of age, ragged, soil- 
ed, and frightfully ugly. — ' How far to the Concord 
turnpike?' ' About a half mile or so. ' ' Have yoy 



POVERTY NOT MISERY, 159 

never been here before ?' said one. 'Never.' 'Per- 
haps you'll get lost.' ' No,' says the other, ' there 
is no danger — our house is just at the foot of the 
hill.' Pointing ahead, 'there,' said she, 'is our 
hovel.' ' How do you contrive to live here .'"said 
I. ' 0, in our way. We get an honest living — 
we work for it, and nothing can be more honest 
than this. We don't call ourselves poor.' ' Who in 
the world are poor,' nfiethought, ' if you are not?' 
'This gentleman don't look, 'said the other, 'as though 
he worked much for his living.' The house was a one 
story building containing two or three rooms, and 
was occupied by two or three families. I remark- 
ed, ' I suppose you live pretty comfortable here 

— do a little yourself — get enough to eat and drink 

— have wood enough to burn and clothes enough 
to keep warm during the cold winter nights.' 'Yes, 
I putter round, gather a few sticks for firing and 
so on, and, thank God, I have got a husband that 
can work for his living, and if he can't do any- 
thing else, can work on a little patch of ground w^e 
have. I have plenty to eat and drink. I have wood 
enough and can keep warm the coldest night in 
winter if I only have him with me.' She was proceed- 
ing in a curious strain. Not knowing what might be 
said, I felt not a little uneasy, and, as quick as it was 
in my power gave a different turn to the conversation. 
The dame who proved herself of such amorous mate- 
rial, was a salt-rlieum-eyed wench, ofsome fifty years 
old, stockingless, and with all the marks of extreme 



160 ASCENT OF THE MONADNOCKT. 

destitution upon her. They little suspected who I 
was, and after I left them, I could not restrain a 
hearty laugh at their singular chitty-chattiness. 



ASCENT OF THE MONADNOCK 



To err is human. ' Hope deferred j^ etc. Misjor* 
tunes never come single. Genuine benevolence. 

This Mountain is one of the White Mountain 
ridge and rises to the height of 3254 feet. Having 
passed the Sabbath in Dublin, N. H. with a cleri- 
cal gentleman of my acquaintance, who was kind 
enough to invite me to accompany him to this place 
on an exchange, we set off on Monday morning to 
return to Fitchburg. The road led us along the 
base of the Monadnock. As we gazed at it with 
eager eyes, the ascent appeared gradual and the sum- 
mit not far distant. We began to talk seri- 
ously of attempting the ascent, and at length conclu- 
ded so to do. We left our horse and chaise at the 
nearest farm-house, and as we could not obtain a 
guide, thought there would be no difficulty in guid- 
ing our selves. So off we started. We were not 
so fortunate as to find a path, and were obliged to 
make one as we proceeded. This was no easy 
matter as there was much brush- wood to work thro'. 
After something of a strain we reached the top of 



'hope deferred,' etc. 161 

the first peak. As we looked upward we saw an- 
other peak at the distance of a mile. So down we 
go nearly a half a mile over rocks and fallen trees 
and up we toil to the height of the second 
peak. To our surprize and disappointment there 
is a still higher peak beyond. Surely this, we 
thought, must be the summit of the mountain. So 
down we go again and up we toil again. Quite ex- 
hausted we reach the height of the third peak. We 
look beyond and upward, and lo! another still high- 
er and more difficult of access. We were not dis- 
posed to give out, though we had litde strength left. 
Like human beings we aspn^ed to reach the utmost 
elevation. So having reposed awhile we perform 
another go-down and go-up, but not without incred- 
ible fatigue. We look again and the summit is far 
off still. We seem to make no approach to it. It 
appears more distant than when we first began the 
ascent. Exhausted and heart-sickened we are ready 
to give over the pursuit. But it is dreadful hard, 
when one has toiled so much, to fail of the object 
sought. So we think we will make one more ef- 
fort, trusting to a kind providence that it will be all 
required of us. We reach the elevation of this 
peak and look around. It is the loftiest of all. Our 
exploit is achieved — our solicitude at an end. 
Our toil rewarded. We remained some time on the 
summit to derive all the pleasure wc could from the 
wide and varied prospect, and to gather strength 

sufficient to make the descent. Having nothing to 

13* 



162 MISFORTUNES NEVER SINGLE. 

eat or drink with us, m^ of course were about half 
famished. At length we left the many peaks, over 
which we had traversed, ' alone in their glory,' and 
sought the base of the one on which we stood. How 
sadly unfortunate! Instead of finding anything like a 
path as we expected, we were obliged to penetrate 
through a forest all but impenetrable, and which hu- 
man foot had never penetrated before, to slide down 
fearful declivities of bare rocks, and sometimes, >vith 
nought to hold by but twigs and shrubs, to drop 
ourselves from perpendicular precipices, not know- 
ing what foot-hold we should find below. We were 
in a melancholy plight before we had made half the 
descent. Our shoes, a few hours before all shining 
bright, worn to the color of the grey rocks — our 
suits of black none the more comely for theirrough 
treatment from bushes and briars — our strength 
all gone — our hearts faint- — and countenances as pal- 
lid as if the grave was about to claim us. We fear- 
ed we should die upon the mountain and become 
the food of the vultures, our bones whiten in the 
depth of the forest, and what had become of us 
ever be a mystery. However such proved not to 
be our fate. We lived to get into the lowlands and 
made out to stagger to the nearest farm-house. We 
told the farmer's wife, in the fewest words, the 
plight we were in and begged of her to accommo- 
date us with a bed to lie down and rest our- 
selves. We obtained what we wished and soon fell 
asleep — losing all recollection of the past. It was 



GE]!^tJINE BENEVOLENCE. 163 

several hours and towards the close of the day be- 
fore we again made our appearance. In the mean- 
lime our kind hostess had provided for us an excel- 
lent supper, and had sent one of her sons after our 
horse and chaise^ which was no less than two or 
three miles oif. We ate heartily and would have 
repaid her well for all she had done for us, but she 
refused to take the smallest compensation. Bles- 
sings on thee, good woman ! Thou hast cast thy 
bread upon the waters. May it return to thee again! 
We set off considerably refreshed, and that night we 
rode to Fitchburg — a distance of thirty miles. 



164 



CURIOUS EPITAPH 

TO REGALE THE READER. 

Free from the stormy gusts of human life, 
Free from the squalls of passion and of strife, 

Herdies R C anchored — who stood the sea 

Of ebbing life and flowing misery, 
He lufT'd and bore away to please mankind, 
Yet duty urged him still to head the wind. 
Though dandy-rigged, his prudent eye foresaw, 
He took a reef at fortune's quickest flaw, 
Rheumatic gusts at length his mast destroyed. 
But jury-health awhile lie still enjoyed. 
Worn out with age and shattered head, 
At last he struck and grounded on his bed — 
There in distress careening thus he lay, 
His final bilge expecting every day — 
Heaven took his ballast from his dreary hold. 
And left his body wrecked — destitute of soul. 

R C alluded to in the epitaph kept a 

wind-mill at Nantucket. His brother — President 
of a bank there — wrote and placed it upon his 
tomb-stone. The family had it removed awhile 
since, as it was a subject of merriment among the 
yisiters of the burying ground. 



165 
MONADNOCK ONCE l\^.ORE. 



Simplicity and cupidity. A little scandal. 

Left Fitzvvilliam at about 9 o'clock, A. M. and 
returned at 4 1-2 P. M. Rode eight miles — ascen- 
ded in 1 3-4 hours — descended in 11-2 hours. 
The ascent two miles — generally quite easy — from 
Marlboro'. Counted thirty ponds — could distinct- 
ly see Keene, Troy, Fitz.william,Jaffrey, Dublin and 
the monument on Wachusett. Forests, hills, pas- 
tures, waters, and villages lay out-spread with their 
various beauties before the eye — a clear rich sun- 
light thrown over all. Here and there lands, en- 
closed and cultivated, attracted the attention. The 
roofs of the farm-houses that spotted the landscape 
glistened as if newly shingled. It was a rare day 
and all nature wore a smiling face. Old Monadnock, 
clad in an impenetrable panoply of solid rock, lifts 
his head proudly towards the heavens. The decay- 
ing trunks of a mighty forest rest upon his bosom 
in mingled confusion, and excite the astonishment 
of the beholder. 

* How divine 



The liberty for frail, for mortal man, 
To roam at large among unpeopled glens 
And mountainous retirements, only trod 
By devious footsteps : regions consecrate 
To oldest time ! 

Near the summit we discovered money secreted 



166 A LITTLE SCANDAL, 

among the rocks and took the ' responsibility of re- 
moving the deposits.' I was much amused with 
the simplicity and honest heartedness of the fellow- 
travellers into whose company I was thrown by ac- 
cident. They were a tailor, a chair-maker, and a 
country store-keeper. The first asked me on tlie 
summit of the mountain if rattle-snakes stung or bit. 
The second was inordinately eager for the tinkling 
brass discovered under the rocks, and scratched up 
the mud like a dog after a v/ood-chuck. He over- 
turned nearly every loose rock from the summit to 
the base. The last told me pleasant stories about the 
clergymen of a neighboring village, such as that the 
Orthodox minister was ' the greatest black-guard in 
the place,' — and ' nobody could hold a row with 
him,' — that ' he was clear as a whistle,' &c. — That 
the Unitarian minister ' owned the best horse in 
town, but kept him the poorest.' ' When he feeds 
his horse,' said he, 'he will give him half a hun- 
dred of hay and not feed him again for a week,' 
— ' and such a driver there is not in the village.' 

We all returned to the public house at the foot of 
the hill, and drank lemonade together out of the same 
glass, (an enormous one by the by) and then set 
off for town in our several vehicles — having had a 
most pleasant excursion. 



167 

PASSAGE OF THE SACO. 



On my way to the Notch of the White Hills. — 
There had been in the vicinity heavy rains. The 
Saco had overflowed its banks and carried away the 
bridge, I ihinkjuot far from Conway. The only al- 
ternative was (o cross the swollen river where there 
was the lea^^t danger. Our party set off in two ve- 
hicles. Some in a double-horse wagon with a dri- 
ver — One gentleman and myself in a single-horse 
wagon. As my companion was older than myself 
and we had taken no experienced driver, he took 
upon him the chief management. We followed in 
the track of the others. Where we attempted to 
cross there was a sharp pitch from the bank to the 
shore. Here our horse — a high-spirited animal — 
began to curvet and conduct suspiciously. How- 
ever it was no time to indulge fears. We persua- 
ded him into the water and urged him on as far as 
the channel of the stream. There the current was 
rapid and deep — the wagon seeming to i-est upon 
the surface of the waters as it without wheels. Our 
high-mettled steed, either terrified by the new situa- 
tion in which he found himself, or glad of a good 
chance for sport, and perhaps determined to get us 
into a bad box, stopped progress and began to leap 
and plunge. Said I to my friend, 'Give him a loose 
rein and I'll give him a blow. He will carry us be- 
yond danger at a few springs.' Our experiment did 
^ot succeed. He grew more antic and umnanage- 



168 PASSAGE OF THE SACO. 

able. My friend, thinking there was no hope, or 
rather in a paroxysm of uncontrollable fright, threw 
the reins into the stream, then leaped in himself. 
Falling somewhat horizontally he altogether disap- 
peared under the water. However he soon came 
to the surface and struggled for the shore. It was 
a struggle — for the water was as high as his breast 
and swept along so furiously that he could hardly 
keep his footing. He at length reached terra fir- 
ma and stood there pale, drenched, and dripping — 
a laughable sight even to myself, though in peril. 
Perhaps, reader, you would like to know the mode 
of my rescue. As you may well suppose, I was in 
no very enviable situation — in the middle of a rush- 
ing torrent with an ungovernable horse and without 
reins. What to do I did not know. How it would 
end was a question. The first step to be taken for 
security was over the seat into the back part of the 
wagon. This was necessary in order to escape the 
wagon in case it should be upset. Luckily it was 
not — for after a few more curvets and plunges the 
horse fell and sunk, leaving nothing of himself to be 
seen but his nostrils and the lower part of his head. 
I felt comparatively at ease, though still uncertain 
of the result. It was not long before our friends 
who were in advance looked back to reconnoitre 
us. They were not a little astonished to see the 
predicament we were in. My friend, apparently 
escaped from a watery grave — and myself in the 
midst of the raging waters standing upright in our 



PASSAGE OF THE SACO. 169 

vehicle with no horse. They were back shortly. 
How to give me assistance in my perilous situation, 
they were in no small doubt. The driver saw no 
other way but to brave the stream, seize the horse 
by the bridle and help him to rights. The thought 
was the deed. The horse after a few Ifemih ef- 
forts stood upon his feet, and with skilful urging and 
guidance drew me safe to land. 



PLEASANT MODE OF JOURNEYING. 



Jl sublime scene. A trial. Rutland. 

One of the most agreeable journies I ever took 
was with a horse and chaise, in company with a 
class-mate, through the State of New Hampshire. 
We filled our chaise-box with volumes of travel and 
romance — and, though last not least, a sin2:in2:- 
book. Our horse was an able-bodied animal, saga- 
cious, and altogether gentle, and had had much ex- 
perience in travelling — for he had seen many days. 
He was named 'Honesty.' I never think of him 
but with a sentiment of gratitude, not to say a slight 
touch of affection. You were safe with, or without 
reins. If we were passing through an uninteresting 
portion of country — whenever conversation flag- 
ged, which was not often -one of us took a volume 

15 



170 A SUBLIME SCENE. 

and read to the other, or we tied the reins to the 
safes and each took a volume read to himself. — 
— When the spiritprompted, if our way was 
through an uninhabited region, we broke the surroun 
ding silence and regaled ourselves with an air of 
solemn music in harmony with the scene. Some of 
the points of our route were Concord, the Capital 
of the State, Newport, Claremont, Charlestown 
No. 4, and the thriving towns along the banks of the 
blue Connecticut towards our native State. I shall 
never forget that time 

' When the heavy uiglit hung dark 
* The wood and waters o'er 

and we wound our unknown and perilous way up 
and down the steep hills of Newport-when the black 
thunder-clouds were dispersed in masses over all the 
heavens, and the lightning darted from one to the oth- 
er with dazzling brilliancy, leaving us in a moment in 
ten-fold gloom, and the far-distant burnings in the 
forest, on either side reminded us of those days, not 
long since gone, when the Indian gathered about his 
council-fires on these same valleys and hill-sides- 
We reached the place at last, much to our joy, but 
were near being obliged to proceed further, as ev- 
ery roofn and bed in the public house were taken up 
by persons from the neighboring towns, who had 
congregated to attend a revival meeting. We how- 
ever prevailed on the landlord to put us up a bed in 
the passage-way leading down the back stairs. It 
was a warm night and we left the window open at the 
bead of our bed. So that what with the noise of the 



RUTLAND. 171 

Jate nightly meeting in the church, which was with- 
in hearing distance, and domestics, in attendance 
upon some sick person in* an adjoining room, going 
up and down stairs, we slept but poorly, and 
were glad to be off again the next mornmg. Though 
the weather had changed and the wind blew very cold 
we saw many females on their way, before the 
sun had risen to attend the morning prayer meeting. 

On the elevated land of Rudand. - A bleak and 
dismal spot. The night dark and cold, and winds 
careering high. In bed turning over the ' Myste- 
ries of Udolpho.' What wonder that imagination 
was wrought up and sleep was not easily courted ! 

I might say something of each the places we pass- 
ed through — not forgetting some incidents that oc- 
curred — but it is best to reserve space for other 
matters. Let me recommend such a tour to every 
one who loves pleasure and would make the most of 
his travels. 



172 

WHITE HILLS, 



WTiite Hills — Mf. Clinton. Tornado. Winni- 
piseogee Lake. Red Mountain. JS'^ot so easy t^ 
meeideath asone thinks for. 

Left Castlne in the packet at 7 o'clock in the 
evening, -arrived in Belfast at 1 1-2 after a rainy 
and disagreeable passage. Cabin extremely wet 
and cold part of the time — extremely hot and un- 
comfortable the remainder. On our arrival when 
we came from below, the moon shone with unclou- 
ded majesty. Repaired immediately to the public 
house, found no one, and could find no one, though 
the house was open, threw myself on a sofa-bed- 
stead, without covering, was chilled through and 
suffered intolerably. Sleep uneasy and unrefresh- 
ing. Left in stage at 5A.M. for Augusta -sick most 
of the way. A route of no interest. Arrived in 
Augusta between one and 2P.M. forgot to pay pas- 
sage and was pursued by driver half way to Hal- 
lowel. Not a very pleasant occurrence. Paid for 
myself and little brother ^5 — the usual fare. How 
exorbitant! Preached in H. on Sunday and left on 
Monday at 4 o'clock, A. M. Reached Paris that 
day — distant forty miles — was overset while de- 
scending the banks of the Androscoggin and a 
little bruised ; spec tacles buried in the sand. 
— Regaledby delightful music at Paris. Left at 7 
o'clock in the morning ior Fryburg, distant thirty 
five miles, Took horse and chaise at this place 



WHltE HILLS. 173 

for White Hills through North Conway and Bart- 
lett. Visited Mts. Washington and Clinton. The 
weather unfavorable on Mt. Washington. Obtained 
a magnificent prospect from Mt. Clinton. It is 
more than two miles to the summit of Mt. C*. 
ascended in two hours accompanied by a guide. 
Mts. Washington, Pleasant, Franklin, Munroe, Jef- 
ferson, Deception, Kearsarge and Chocorua' Peak, 
or Peaked Mountain, indeed a ' grand sierra of 
mountain peaks' rose around us. The Saco and 
Ammonoosuc have their rise among these ' crystal 
hills.' The height of Mt. Washington is variously 
estimated. Dr. Williams says 7,800 feet above 
the level of the ocean. Dr. Cutter, 10,000 feet. 
It is said to be visible 30 leagues at sea— wlhich 
would be a distance of 165 miles. Therefore, ac- 
cording to Dr. D wight. Its height must be 12,000 
feet. Every body has read, or ought to read hi.^ in- 
teresting sketch of all that is remarkable at the 
White Hills, so that the patience of the reader will 
be spared any effort of mine. 

Crawford's house. — The highest inhabited spot 
in the United States. — 3,000 feet above the level of 
the sea. He is not much at his ease in his situation 
of innkeeper. ' To be scolded at every day,' said 
he, ' for not having every variety of every thing — 
Fox on't !I had rather hoe potatoes from sun-rise 
to sun-set.' Followed up the ^ silver cascade,' near 
to its source. Penetrated the wild and awfully sol- 
itary ravines near the Notch. The sides of the 

15* 



174 WINNIPISEOGEE LAKE. 

Mountains at the Notch are about twenty -'two (eei 
apart. But let others talk of the wonders. 

Returned to Fryburg on second day. Took 
horse and chaise for Centre Harbor, 40 ms. rthrough 
Eaton, Tamworth, Sandwich, Moultonboro'-got off 
the road and travelled round some ten or fifteen 
miles. Threaded a pine woods and witnessed the wo- 
n derful effects of a thunder-storm, or tornado in 
tearing up by the roots some of the sturdiest trees, 
several of which had fallen across the road, but were 
removed. It was such a tornado as Dante de- 
scribes : 

* A mighty wind 
Which, rushing swift to coo 1 some fervid zone, 
Shatters the wood, and sweeping unconfined, 
Tears off the boughs, beats down, and hurls away ; 
In clouds of dust advances proudly on. 
And fills the beasts and shepherds with dismay.* 

Centre Harbor is at the head of Winnlpiseogee 
Lake — a lake said not to be inferior to the far-fam- 
ed Lake Geor2:e. It contains not less tlian 365 is- 
lands in its waters. In the vicinity of this lake is a 
peculiar elivation, called Red ' Mountain,' from its 
remarkably red appearance at a distance. It is an 
object with travellers to ascend this mountain. My 
little brother and myself were desirous of making 
the ascent. So, as is usual, we took a guide and 
saddle horse with a horse and wagon, and rode to 
the base of the mountain, a distance of four miles. 
We unharnessed our wagon-horse and saddled him 



OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN. i'fS 

and my brother and myself mounted on horse-back. 
Our guide being on foot, we thus commenced the 
ascent. It is 1 3-4 miles to the summit. The path 
is stony and precipitous in some places, but it is 
not a diliicult matter to ride to the summit. 

Half way up this mountain, or more, on a com- 
paratively level spot, is the cot] of an old man who 
when young and newly married took up his abode 
here in the depth of the forest and among the wild 
beasts — driven, as he told me, by necessity from 
the haunts of men. He goes by the appellation of 
the ' Old Man of the Mountain.' He is very obli- 
ging to those who reach the place of his habitation, 
and delights to impart to them all the information in 
his possession. He has two children who are deaf 
and dumb, but are far from lacking shrewdness. 
We were regaled with blue-berries and an abundance 
of blue-berry cake gathered and made by his deaf 
and dumb daughter. The old man seemed to be 
glad to go to the summit with us, and we were not 
at all sorry. So we moved on,— part on foot — part 
on horse-back. On the way something led me to 
relate to him the ancient fable of the Old Man of 
the Mountain and Death. In turn he related to 
me an anecdote of his wife, wherein the fable was 
reduced to fact. His wife went one afternoon to 
visit some of her neighbors several miles off. She 
was to return before night, and he had agreed to meet 
her at a certain place to accompany her the rest of 
the way home. She did not start until it was rather 



176 DEATH NOT SO WELCOME. 

late and the neighbors told her ' they should think 
she would be afraid the bears would catch her.' 
She replied that ' she had such a hard lot in this 
world that she did n't care if they did.' The bears 
were not such great strangers in those days as they 
are now, and it happened that before she had reached 
the place where her husband was to meet her, she es- 
pied, beside the path and very near to heralarge black 
bear working his nose under the trunk of a fallen 
and rotten tree. He heard foot-steps and look- 
ed up. The poor woman was frightened almost 
out of her senses. Though shs had endured and 
was likely to endure many more trials, she was not 
quite prepared to^be seized and devoured by the wild 
beasts. She was no more ready to obey the sum- 
mons than the old man of the fable. 

We eased the ascent by such unrestrained chat 
and in a short time found ourselves upon the sum- 
mit. We were one hour in the ascent. The view 
from this mountain is almost unrivalled for beauty. 
Winnipisseogee lake with its multitude of arms ex- 
tending in all directions and its hundreds of islands 
of every shape, size and aspect — Squam lake, small 
compared with the former, but very beautiful — even 
romantic, though with an unromantic name — lie 
spread out distinctly before the eye. But I shall 
not attempt a description of the extensive and de- 
lightful prospect after the excellent and accurate 
one of Dr. D wight. 



MEMOIR 

OP 

REV. HENRY AUGUSTUS WALKER, 



* Like other tyrants, Death delights to smite 
What smitten most proclaims the pride of power.' 

Young. 

The papers have within a short time brought us 
the melancholy tidings of the death of Mr. Walker 
on one of the West India Islands. He died at San- 
ta Cruz, Feb. 17th, 1838 — aged 28, and was in- 
terred on the island at his own request. 

I cannot consent that the grave should close over 
the remains of the deceased without some effort to 
keep alive his remembrance. For he was an indi- 
vidual of no common excellence. I feel moreover, 
that as I was so fortunate as to enjoy his friendship 
for many years, some tribute is due from me to his 
memory. Says the wise man, ' The memory of 
the just is blessed. ' Such is the memory of the de- 
parted. 

Mr. Walker was a native of Charlestown. My 
first acquaintance with him was at Billerica, to which 
place we were sent when boys to attend the acade- 
my, then under the suj)erintendance of the Rev. 
Bernard Whitman. Here he exhibited the same 



178 MEMOIR OF 

qualities which marked his character in after life. 
He was fitted for college at Exeter, N. H. While 
in this place he experienced the power of religion 
through the ministrations of a Trinitarian clergyman, 
and connected himself with his church. This step 
he afterwards regretted, and it occasioned him con- 
siderable uneasiness of mind. He was about be- 
ginning his collegiate career. He entered Cam- 
bridge University in 1826. Though I had been in 
College one year, circumstances threw us much to- 
gether and we became very intimate. I ever found 
him gentle and modest, sincere, affectionate and 
true, devoted to his studies, singularly just in his 
judgements of persons and opinions, and possessed 
of the deepest moral and religious principles. His 
diffidence was great, and it led him to shrink from 
much intercourse with his class-mates, and caused 
him often to appear to disadvantage in the recitation 
room. He however stood well with his fellows and 
graduated with a respectable rank. The time had 
arrived for him to enter upon a profession. The 
temper of his mind was always serious, and he chose 
with readiness the profession of Divinity. The 
great question with him was where he should com- 
mence his studies — whether at Andover or Cam- 
bridge. Some of his family preferred he should 
study at the former, others at the latter place, ac- 
cording to their particular creeds. 

His own mind was wavering. At length after 
much deliberation upon the subject, he concludeds 



REV. H. A. WALKER. 179 

to go to Cambridge, though inclined to a graver 
Theology than that which prevails there. As I did 
no tenter the Theological School until the second 
year after my graduation at college, Mr. Walker and 
myself were in the same class. Our intimacy now 
became more close than ever. The condition of 
my own mind was not very different from that of 
my friend. I felt a disposition for something a little 
more grave than the Theology of Liberal Christian- 
ity. Still my mind, like his, was in a very undeci- 
ded state in regard to the great questions in dispute 
among the different sects of Christians. My friend 
and myself were determined to preserve our minds 
as free as possible from all prejudice or partiality, 
to study the Scriptures in their original languages 
with care and earnestness, and to receive those doc- 
trines as true which we should find taught, be they 
Trinitarian and Calvinistic, Unitarian and Arminian, 
or whatever different. For the space ol three years 
we were in each other's company some part of al- 
most every day. We studied together. We read 
to each other. We discussed more or less almost 
every dilTicult point in Theology. The more we 
investigated and reasoned, the more all tendencies 
to orthodoxy were checked within us, until at length 
we became firmly grounded in the prii.ciples of Lib- 
eral Christianity. We rejoiced in the liberty where- 
Christ had made us Iree. 

As soon as we had finished the prescribed term 
of theological study, we tcok a tour in company 



180 MEMOIR OP 

through the several States, visiting the Falls of 
Trenton and Niagara, Lake Erie, Pittsburg, the 
Allegany Mountains and Bedford Springs in the 
Southern part of Pennsylvania. As a travelling 
companion he was all one could desire, intelligent, 
curious, agreeable, persevering and never disturbed 
by trifles. This tour, of which it becomes me to 
speak cursorily and only so for as it is connected 
with the life of him whose remembrance should be 
cherished, was beneficial to Mr. Walker's health, 
as well as his mind. It gave him an opportunity of 
min2;ling more (reely with mankind than he had been 
in the habit. After this he preached a fev/ times 
and then prepared for a journey to Europe, in part 
for the benefit of his health and an acquaintance with 
tl;e world, but especiall)' for greater advancement 
in theological science. He was abroad nearly two 
years. He travelled in England, Scotland, France 
and Germany. In Germany he remained some 
time at the University in Berlin, devoting his time 
and strength to his favorite studies. He collected 
something of a library of German theological works, 
which he brought home with him. i have heard him 
converse upon the subject of his travels. He seem- 
ed to have turned them to a good account — having, 
treasured up much knowledge of men and things. 
Whatever he saw, heard, or learnt, he could describe 
with remarkable vividness and truth. He had ac- 
curately observed the characteristics of the differ- 
ent nations among which he travelled, and possess- 



KEV. H. A. WALKER. 181 

ing much discrimination and acuteness, be was 
scarcely surpassed in the skill and exactness with 
which he could severally represent them. Soon af» 
ter his return from abroad he entered upon the du- 
ties of his profession, and wherever he labored in 
the vineyard of the Lord, he left a favorable im- 
pression of his character and capacity. His health, 
though improved by his foreign travels, was not firm- 
ly established, and it was not long before it began 
to falter under the pressure of the cares and respon- 
sibilities ot the Christian Ministry. About this time 
some effort was made to procure his services in the 
preparation of a commentary upon the New Testa- 
ment, and some arrangement would have been made 
by him had his health permitted. No one could 
be better qualified for the task than himself. 
He was an unprejudiced and faithful student, was 
blessed with a strong and accurate understanding, 
and I may say, for one of his age, was learned in 
the Scriptures. We have great reason to lament 
that he was not spared to accomplish this work. 
His health continued to decline. It became neces- 
sary for him to withdraw from the labors of his pro- 
fession, and at length to give over all mental exer- 
tion whatsoever. For some time before he sailed 
for the West Indies he had been confined to the 
house. While he was in this failing state, the death 
of his father must have operated upon him unfavor- 
ably. I saw him from time to time when I visited 
C— ^n. but I could perceive no 2;round of encour- 



182 MEMOIR OF 

agement that he would ever entirely recover. There 
appeared to be no vigor in his constitution. He 
was obliged to take medicine constantly, and at 
length a cough, though not a very bad one, seized 
upon his vitals. I was unwilling to give up all 
hope, but the last time I saw him I felt that his fate 
was sealed. One of his physicians advised him, as 
the only chance of prolonging his existence, to resort 
to a v/armer clime. When he informed me he had 
determined to go, I had, I confess, but little faith 
in its being of any ultimate benefit to him.. Indeed 
it seemed to me there was but a bare possibility of 
his living to reach home again. ' As far as I could 
judge he had not much hope himself Pale, ema- 
ciated, without strength, his bodily system out of 
order, and growing more so every day, depressed 
and almost discouraged in mind, when I bade him 
farewell I did it with a heavy heart, feeling that I 
should not see him more. He was to sail the next 
week, and when the time came, it is not difficult to 
conceive the many saddening feelings with which 
he must have left his home, so dear to him — his 
sick mother — his brothers and sisters who loved 
him and hoped, though against hope, that he would 
live to be an ornament to the church and an honor 
to his name. Circumstances were such that nei- 
ther brother, nor sister — neither friend nor ac- 
quaintance could accompany him. His only com- 
panion was a servant and a stranger. From his last 
conversation with me it appeared he was satisfied, 



REV. H. A. WALKER. 183 

if his passage off the coast was bad, all would soon 
be over with him. He felt that he was running a 
great risk, but it was for his life ; and what will not 
not man do for his life ? 

The voyage at first seemed to be beneficial, but 
during the latter part of it he relapsed, his lungs dis- 
charged blood freely, and the last four nights were 
very distressing to him. He told his servant once or 
twice he did not think he should live until morning ; 
and the thought of dying on board and being thrown 
into the sea was dreadful to him. Every effort was 
made to dispel apprehension and to sustain his spirits. 
When at length the vessel was said to approach Ian j 
he was much relieved and rejoiced. He reached the 
island of Santa Cruz on Wednesday, 14ih of Feb. 
Dr.Stedman, who visited him, considered him a very 
sick man, and his situation called forth much sym- 
pathy from him and many others. On Friday he was 
able to walk about the apartment and entry of the 
house where he lodged. The warmth of the climate 
however prostrated his little remaining strength. On 
Saturday morning he spoke to his servant and told 
him he w-ould try to get up. In the effort he was 
seized with a shivering and fainting turn, which pro- 
duced utter senselessness for some minutes. The 
physician was called. He had already pronounced 
him consumptive as well as dyspeptic, and he now 
pronounced him beyond hope. After some persua- 
sion he felt it his duty to inform him of his situation 
and that he had but little time to live. The infer- 



184 MEMOIR OF 

mation to his agreeable disappointment, was recefved 
without a murmur or a sigh — with the most perfect 
composure and resignation. He was asked if he 
had any directions to leave behind him. As he had 
arranged all his affairs before his departure, he had 
but little to say. His thoughts doubtless were with 
his God and his distant friends. Before he ex- 
pired, he took his watch from around his neck and, 
reaching it to his attendant, told him to carry it 
home. These were the last words he spoke. In 
a few minutes after he fell asleep in death. 

Reader, think of that death-bed — on a sea- 
beat island, far away from country and home,, 
with none but the eyes of strangers fixed upon him, 
and none but hands of the stranger to administer to 
him in the last great agony ! ' Let me die 
among my kindred,' becomes the prayer of every 
heart. It appears however that his end was peaceful 
and serene. He was a good man and regarded him- 
self in the hands of God in any part of his universe. 

How blest the righteous when he dies ! 

When sinks a weary soul to rest, 
How mildly beam the closing eyes. 

How gently heaves the expiring breast! 

So fades a sunnmer cloud away» 

So sinks the gale when storms are o'er» 

So gently shuts the eye of day, 
So dies a wave along the shore. 

The following extracts from a letter dated ' Santa 
Cruz, February ISth, 1838,' has been put into my 



REV. H. A. WALKER. 185 

hands, and contains particulars of such interest 
concerning his death and burial as to justify its pub- 
licity: 

"In that new made grav» was but yesterday interred the bo- 
dy of Rev. Henry A. Walker, a young Unitarian clergyman from , 
as we are told, Charlestown Mass. Although we knew him 
not, we could not but feel deeply interested in him, so far sep- 
arated from all his near friends. He arrived here about a week 
since very sick, very feeble indeed, but apparently unconscious 
of the fatal character of his disease, as he told Dr. Stedman 
that bis lungs were not affectGd, and that if he could euro ;i 
particular symptom of dyspepsia of which he complained, ho 
should get well. Dr. S. saw at that time that he would not 
live many days. He was altogether too feoble to receive any 
visits, or the little attentions we would gladly have paid him. 
He fell into kind hands, and if his own mother had been with 
him, he could not have been treated with more tenderness, or 
have had more judicious care taken of him. ]\liss Briggs, his 
landlady, makes all her boarders love her. Rev. jMr. Lee, the 
gentleman to whom he had a letter, was absent with his family 
at the other end of the island, and detained there by the sick- 
ness of his mother and sister; but Capt. Spencer, a son of 
Judge Spencer's of New York, thought for him and fell for him 
with as much interest as if he were his own brother. When 
Capt. S. found on Saturday that he was rapidly sinking, he sent 
for Mr. Livingston, a most excellent gentleman who boards with 
us, to consult as to the propriety of letting Mr. W. know his 
situation. They both felt that it would be unkind to let him die 
unconsciously, for although they trusted he had not then to 
make his preparation for death, yet they thought he might havo 
some message of importance to send, or some arrangements 
of importance to make. They felt that it would be doing him 
injustice not to apprize him of the event, which would take 
place in a few days, or hours. They called upon Dr. Sted- 
man and requested him to tell Mr. Walker the truth. AU 
though remarkabljr sincere ai a professional man, he felt un« 

16* 



186 MEMOIR OF 

pleasantly 'at undertaking the office. He said the young inati 
was so unconseious of being so dangerously ill, and at the same 
tinoe was so very weak, that the suddenness of the intelligence 
might agitate him and accelerate his death Still he acknowl- 
edged that under any circumstances he could not live many 
hours. At length he thought best to do it. Happily the intel- 
ligence produced no ill eflect. The young man was perfectly 
calm, and said he had no arrangements to make, nothing to say, 
but what he could say to Mr. Lee if he came the next day. Dr. 
Stedman told him that would be too late ; that Capt. Spen- 
cer was a gentleman in whom he could feel perfect confidence. 
Mr. Walker afterwards sent for Capt. Spencer. He wa«3 then 
loo feeble to say much, but Capt S. assisted him as much as 
he could, by anticipating in some measure what he wished to 
have said to his friends. Mr. Walker's mind was perfectly 
clear and calm. He died about an hour after, at 9 o'clock Sat- 
urday evening. We all felt very much touched, as you may 
suppose, when we heard of this Sunday morning. The funeral 
was to be Sunday afternoon. We went to r>Iiss E. 's after meet- 
in^ in the morning that we might, hear all the particulars from 
Capt. and Mrs. Spencer. I went into his room with Mrs S. and 
looked at him as he lay in his cotTin. We could not but speak 
of his mother, and wish she might have the melancholy satisfac- 
tion of gazing upon him as we did. In the afternoon most of the 
Americans and some of the residents assembled at the house at 
4 o'clock. The coffin, according to the custom here, was cov. 
ered and lined with white cambric and three white napkins were 
laid under it for the pall-holders to lift it by. When it was time, 
the pall-holdors, who had white satin rosettes, or bows on their 
hats and white gloves, on raised the body and carried it to the 
hearse. The servant followed first as chief mourner, with a long 
weeper hanging from the back of his hat, then all the gentlemen 
in pairs, then the ladies, then the servants of the house and sev- 
eral other colored people following in a little group. We en- 
tered the church, where the body was laid in the aisle. The 
funeral service of the Episcopal church was commenced, and 
very impressive it was at that still hour of the day, listened to 
by a little band, in that large ckurch. 



REV. IJ. A. WALKER. l87 

*'The 15thchapt«r of Corinthians never had more power over 
me than then. The little procession moved into the bnrying 
ground, and I stood close at the foot of the grave and saw the 
poor fellow laid in his narrow home. I wish his friends could 
have beheld the scene. It was a few minutes before sunset, and 
a breathless and reverent stillness pervaded all around. A group 
of people, who a few months since were all strangers to each 
other, met together around the body of one, emphatically " a 
stranger in a strange land." The look of tender regret visible 
in every face as their eyes fixed upon the grave, and the deep 
solemnity which spread over every countenance as the reader 
went on with the service, '* ]Man that is born of woman," &c, 
I shall never forget. If 3Ir. Walker had been among his own 
friends, he could hardly have had, I think, more heartfelt sym- 
pathy. My mind has been filled with the subject, and I have 
thought that if you were acquainted v^ith Mr. Walker's friends, 
they might be interested in these little particulars." 

Thus a young man of great promise is prema- 
turely sent to the grave and the fond expectations of 
many hearts are turned to ashes. 

We naturally ask, why such an event is ordained 
or permitted.'' 

' Why are the bad above, the good beneath 
The green grass of the grave ?' 

and, though \vc can assign some purposes that are 
answered by such appointments, we are compelled to 
acknowledge that ' God moves in a mysterious way.' 
Some may think that it would be better to have 
things ordered differently, but God is not reduced to 
the necessity of consulting our wisdom to know 
when it is best to remove his children hence. He 
is infinitely wise, and all that he does must be right. 
He has brought us into the world, he knows best 



i83 MEMOIR OP 

when tb take us out of it. Let us be submissive td 
the Divine will. Let us adore the unimpeachable 
wisdom of the All-Perfect. 

It becomes me, ere I bring this notice to a close, 
to point out the excellences and virtues of the char- 
acter of the deceased with more particularity. 

The dead are commonly overpraised. — I would 
not speak of him in terms of extravagant eulogy. 
Indeed I can hardly venture to speak of him In a 
manner due to his deserts lest his habitual modesty 
might seem to reprove me. It shall be my endea- 
vor to speak the truth of him — no more than the 
truth — no less than the truth. 

Mr. Walker was a man of retired habits and 
seldom made his appearance In general society, but 
those intimately acquainted with him, will bear tes- 
timony to the correctness of the following charac- 
ter. He was a man of a singularly clear and dis- 
criminating mind, of great candour, justice, and sin- 
cerity. Asa scholar, he was correct and indefat- 
igable. He loved study, because he loved truth. 
He sought for It as the pearl of great price. As 
a friend, he was faithful and firm. None ever had 
occasion to question the warmth of his affections, 
or their truth and permanency. His whole demean- 
or was that of a gende, modest, and humble man. 
His conscience was quick and active. His prin- 
ciples were, humanly speaking, immutable. His 
feelings were tender and delicate. Though em- 
barrassingly timid, he was, at times, a courageous 



REV. H. A. WALKER. 189 

advocate of truth and rectitude, an unsparing denoun- 
cer of error and vice. He had ability, and when 
occasion required, he rehed upon this rather than 
his courage. His temperament was cahn — dispas 
sionate — philosophic. In fine he was a devout 
man and ' in wisdom,' as has been truly said of him, 
4ie was early old.' — Such was the character of the 
deceased. In his death the profession to which he 
belonged has sustained a severe loss. To his com- 
panions at the University, and to those who were 
prepared with, him by the discipline of several years, 
for the ministry of the Gospel, this event must speak 
in tones solemn, affecting, saddening. An ex- 
tended family circle mourns his unhappy fate and 
the disappointment of dear hopes. But the con- 
solation which religious faith affords to all who lament 
the early and sad termination of his mortal career, is 
that, though gone from them, he is not lost. 'Blessed 
are the dead, which die in the Lord. — They rest 
from their labors and their works do follow them.' 



MEMOIR 

OF 

REV. ZABDIEL ADAMS, 



* Let us now praise famous men and our fathers that begat 
us — such as did bear rule in their kingdoms, men renowned for 
their power — leaders of the people by their counsels, and by 
their knowledge of learning meet for the people, wise and elo- 
quent in their instructions.' Son of Sirach. 

Mr. Adams was bom in that part of Braintree, 
now called Quincy, Nov. 5th, 1739. His father, 
Capt. Ebenezer Adams, was brother to the father 
of John Adams, and his mother, whose maiden 
name was Ann Boylston, was sister to the mother 
of the President. Hence John Adams and himself 
were a sort of double cousins. They were educa- 
ted in the closest intimacy with each other, and in 
after life kept up a cordial correspondence. The 
President was strongly attached to his cousin, as ap- 
years from the following observation which he made 
after his decease, ' When I lost him, I lost bone of 
my bone and flesh of my flesh.' 

Mr. Adams was graduated at Cambridge in 1759. 
He was inclined to the study of law. But his fa- 
ther opposed this inclination, and was earnestly de- 
sirous he should enter the ministry. He consulted 
the wishes of his father, and said on his death-bed 
he was rejoiced he had done so. 



MEMOIR OF REV. ZABDIEL ADaMS. 191 

Sept. 5th, 1764 he was ordained as Pastor of the 
church in Lunenburg. 

In 1774 he discovered aciiteness, though he did 
not meet with success, in the management of a con- 
troversy on the question, whether the Pastor has a 
negative voice on the proceedings of the church. 
He maintained that he has, in the same manner as 
the Governor of Massachusetts has a negative voice 
on the acts of the General Court. 

The character of Mr. Adams is best illustrated 
by a selection frcm the various anecdotes that are 
related of him. Some that are connected with his 
name are probably untrue. The following,obtained 
from the most authentic sources, may be relied upon. 

When Mr. Adams had chosen his partner for life, 
which was about the time of his setdement, he said 
to her in order to ascertain whether she loved him 
as well as he did her. ' I am just through my stud- 
ies. Miss Boylston, and $400 in debt, and think it 
advisable to put off marriage for about one year. 
What do you think ?' '0,' said she, ' whatever 
may be agreeable to you. If you wish to defer it,I 
am willing. ' ' Are you ?' said he, springing from his 
chair, ' Well, I am not. Worlds would not tempt 
me.' 



He was very fond of his wife, but tried to make 
people believe he was not. Indeed if she was out, 
I have heard it said, he would go down to the gate 
in tront fo his house and stand there looking up and 



192 MEMOIR OP 

down the road to get a glimpse of her. When she 
came in sight, he would return to his study, surround 
himself with open hooks, and appear to be much 
absorbed when she came in. ' Well, wife,' he 
would say, throwing his arms back, ' you have been 
out it seems,' as if he did not know it before. 
' What did you hear ?' &c. 



The singing choir of the parish desired the sup- 
port of a school for improvement in music. Through 
the influence of a certain individual, who was a man 
of note in the town, the request was not granted. 
The consequence was that on the next Sabbath 
there was nobody in the singing seats. Mr. Adams 
took occasion to make some remarks to his people 
on the importance of music as a part of public 
worship and then told them that unless they furnish- 
ed music, he should not furnish preaching. He 
informed the scattered members of the choir that if 
they had been wronged, he w^ould endeavor to see 
their wrongs redressed, and on the following Sab- 
bath preached a sermon from this text, of which he 
made an almost pointed application, 'It must needs 
be that offences come, but woe unto that man by 
whom the offence cometh.' The parish soon re- 
considered and reversed their former vote, and the 
seats afterwards were well filled with singers. 



A certain individual of his parish called on him 
one day and told him he could not in conscience go 



REV. 2ABDIEL ADAMS. 193 

to meeting while the violin and base viol, instruments 
used at parties and balls were permitted to be in the 
singing seats. SaysMrAdams,' Captain —, 'calling him 
by name, 'I had no hand in introducing them into the 
seats and I shall have no hand in turning them out. 
All is, if you can come to meeting, very well; if not, 
we can get along very well without you.' The Caj)- 
tain,it is said was found in his pew as regular as ever. 



He had attended a funeral one afternoon and 
was following the corpse, in the rear of the pro- 
cession, to the grave yard. All of a sudden the 
procession came to a stand. After a considerable 
pause, Mr. Adams got impatient and walked to the 
bier to know the cause thereof. The Pall-bearers 
informed him that a sheriff from Leominster had 
attached the body for debt. This practice was le- 
gal at this period. ' Attached the body ?' exclaim- 
ed Mr. A. thumping his cane down with vehe- 
mence. ' Move on,' said he ' and bury tlie man. 
I have made a prayer at a funeral and somebody 
shall be buried. If the Sheriffobjects, take him up 
and bury him.' The bier was raised without delay, 
the procession moved on and the Sheriffthought best 
to molest them no further or in vulgar parlance, made 

himself scarce. A Parishioner brought a child to 

him to be baptised. The old parson leaned forward 
and asked him the name. 'Ichabod,' says he. Now 
Mr. A. had a strong prejudice against this name. 
'Poh, poh,' says he. ' John, you mean. John, 
I baptise thee in the name, &c.' 

17 



194 MEMOIR OF 

One Sabbath afternoon his people were expect- 
ing a stranger to preach whom they were all anx- 
ious to hear, and a much more numerous congre- 
gation than usual had assembled. The stranger did 
not come and of course the people were disap- 
pointed. Mr. Adams found himself obliged to offi- 
ciate, and in the course of his devotional exercise 
he spoke to this effect. *'We beseech thee, 
Lord, for this people, who have come up with itch- 
ing ears to the Sanctuary, that that their severe af- 
fliction may be sanctified to them for their moral 
and spiritual good, and that the humble efforts of 
thy servant may be made, through thy grace, in some 
measure effectual to their edification, &c. 



A Parishioner, one of those who did not sit 
down and count the cost, undertook to build a 
house, and invited his friends and neighbors to have 
a frolic with him in digging the cellar. After the 
work was finished Mr. Adams happened to be 
passing by, and stopping addressed him thus. "Mr. 
Ritter, you have had a frolic and digged your cel- 
lar. You had better have another frolic and fill it 
up again." Had he heeded the old man's advice, 
he would have escaped the misery of pursuit from 
hungry creditors, and the necessity of resort to a 
more humble dwelling. 



A neighboring minister — a mild inoffensive man 
- with whom he was about to exchange, said to 



REV. ZABDIEL ADAMS. 195 

him, knowing the peculiar bluntness of his charac- 
acter, ' You will find some panes of glass in the pul- 
pit window broken, and possibly you may suffer 
from the cold. The cushion too, is in a bad condi- 
tion, but I beg of you not to say anything to my 
people on the subject. They are poor,' &c. '0, 
no! 0, no!' says Mr. Adams. But ere he left home, 
he filled a bag with rags and took it with him. When 
he had been in the pulpit a short time, feeling some- 
what incommoded by the too free circulation of air, 
he deliberately took from the bag a handful or two 
of rags and stuffed them into the window. — Tow- 
ards the close of his discourse, which was more or 
less upon the duties of a people towards their cler- 
gyman, he became very animated and purposely 
brought down both his fists with tremendous force 
upon the pulpit cushion. The feathers flew m all 
directions, and the cushion was pretty much used 
up. He instantly checked the currentof his thoughts 
and simply exclaiming, ' Why, how these feathers 
fly !' proceeded. He had fulfilled his promise of not 
addressing the society on the subject, but had taught 
them a lesson not to be misunderstood. On the 
next Sabbath the window and cushion were found 
in excellent repair. 

The foregoing anecdotes illustrate the remarkable 
independence and fearlessness of Mr. Adams and 
the degree of influence which the clergy exerted in 
his day. — The following anecdotes are characteris- 
tic of the man, but are of a different stamp. 



196 MEMOIR OF 

One night he put up at the house of Mr. Emer- 
son, the minister of Hollis. Now his host, as was 
the general custom, took a glass of bitters every 
morning, and it so happened that they were in the 
closet of the chamber where Mr. Adams slept. 
With the morning came his craving for his bitters. 
He did not wish to disturb Mr. A, but he was very 
anxious to get his bitters and try he must. So he 
opened the door softly and crept slyly to the said 
closet. Mr. Adams heard him, but wishing to know 
what he would be at, pretended to be asleep. As 
soon as he had secured the prize and was about ma- 
king his escape, Mr. A. broke the profound silence 
of the apartment with this exclamation, ' Bro. Em- 
erson, I have always heard you was a very pious 
man — much given to your closet devotions, but I 
never caught you at them before." 'Pshaw — 
pshaw!' replied his friend, who made for the door 
and shut it as soon as he cleverly could. 

Sometimes he received a good hit, as it is well 
known he gave many. He said to the minister of 
Shirley one day, ' My people like to have me ex- 
change with you very well, Bro. Whitney.' 'Good 
reason why,' was the reply. ' They like to have 
good preaching once in a while.' 'Poh — poh !' 
says Mr. Adams. ' No such thing. It is because 
they like to see you coming up from Shirley on 
horse-back ; you ride so smart through the town.* 
Mr. W. prided himself on his horsemanship. 



REV. ZABDIEL ADaMS. 197 

On an occasion when the Trustees of Groton Acad- 
emy were assembled, it became necessary for the 
laws of the Institution to be read aloud. Mr Adams 
read over a part and handed them to Mr. W. whom 
all present knew to be less fond of his books than his 
horse, saying 'Here, Bro.Whitney,youare a 6ooA:i5/i 
man — read. ' The retort came quick — ' I know as 
much about books as }'ou do about good manners.* 



A council was convened at Westford to act upon 
the dismission of Mr. Scrivener. Mr. Adams was 
called upon to open the council with prayer. He 
declined. It was urged upon him. He declined 
more positively 7 saying he had made one prayer that 
morning. lie was told that the duty devolved up- 
on him as the oldest member present. They were 
so importunate that he was a little offended. Where- 
upon seizing a chair, he arose in haste and offered a 
prayer to God, the impression of which has not 
been effaced even at this late day. When it was fin- 
ished, the minister of Shirley said to Dr.R. ' I think 
Mr. Adams prays best when he isalitde mad.' 



An individual in his parish killed one of his kine 
and told an older son to carry such a part to Mr. 
Adams. He said he didn't want to go, for he had 
been twice and got nothing for his pains. A young- 
er son thought he could get something and offered 
to go. He took the meat to the house and pushing 

without ceremony into the room where Mr. A. and 

17* 



198 MEMOIR OF 

some company were engaged In conversation, laid 
it down and said in a bold tone, ' Father has sent 
you this meat.' ' Did your father, 'says Mr. Adams, 
' tell you to come into the room and speak to me in 
this way .'" ' No,' replied the boy. 'Let me shew 
you, then,' said Mr. A. ' how you should have done 
you errand.' So having told the boy to sit down 
in a certain chair, he took the piece of meat and 
going out of the room came back in a very modest 
manner and said to the boy, (representing Mr. A.) 
in a very respectful tone, ' Father has sent you a 
piece of meat, if you will please to accept it.' 'Yes, 
I will,' says the boy, ' and, wife, give the boy 
two coppers.' This reply pleased Mr. A. so much 
that he told the boy to go into the next room and 
tell Mrs. Adams to give him the two coppers. Mr. 
Adams was always pleased with indications of bright- 
ness in the young and hefrequently talked with them 
with a view to try and bring out their wits. Such 
replies as these afforded him much satisfaction and 
delight, perhaps the more, because the young were 
generally afraid of him and kept at a distance. Riding 
along on horse-back one day, he asked a boy he met, 
' Who lives In that house, my boy .^' pointing to a 
house about which he and everybody knew. The 
boy looked up in Mr. A.'s face roguishly and said, 
' Mr. Nobody lives there and he's not at home.' 
Mr. A rode on with a hearty laugh. 

At another time he asked a boy which way he 
should take to a neighboring town, whither the young- 



Rev, ZA.BDIEL ADAMS. 199 

ster knew he was in the habit of going. The reply 
was, ^ The way, sir, you always do.' Mr. A. spur- 
red up his horse and lauglied heartily as before. 



When the younger son of Mr. A. was in college, 
he was fined a dollar for throwing snow-balls in the 
college yard. He expected that his father would 
give him a severe lecture when he should read the 
item, or, in the phraseology of the students, ' the 
poetry ' on his bill. On the contrary, at the sight 
of it, his usual sternness was relaxed to a smile. It 
reminded him of something similar in its result, 
which occurred in his own colles;e lile. 

lie was in College at the time when wigs were 
every were in vogue, and freshmen were treated by 
the Tutors and the older classes little better than 
servants. He told his son that he lived under a 
Tutor and was at his beck continually. That one day 
he sent for him so frequendy he got out of all pa- 
tience, and went up at last with his wig turned wrong 
side foremost ; for which he was summoned before 
the Faculty and fined a dollar. 

His older son one Sabbath fell in a fit in Dr. 
Morse's church in Charlestown. Word was sent to 
his father at L — g that his son was quite unwell. 
He immediately came down to see him. As soon 
as he arrived, the gentleman of the house with whom 
he boarded came to the gate. Mr. Adams inquired 
after his son. He was told that he had a fit on 
Sunday. * A fit !' exclaimed Mr. A. 'A fit! My 



200 MEMOlU OP 

family know nothing of fits unless it be mad fits. I 
have them once in a while, but they pass off without 
harm. ' 

The following curious anecdote rests on the best 
of authority. While Mr. A. was engaged in the study 
of divinity, he boarded with his aunt, the mother of 
John Adams. The latter was at the same period 
engaged in the study of Law. Mrs. A. was a pious 
woman and prayers were offered daily in her family. 
Her son and nephew officiated in turn. Zabdiel 
said to his cousin one day, ' I like your prayers very 
well, John, but there is no variety in them; you say 
the same thing over and over again. ' This remark 
gave offence to John, and he declared he never 
would pray again. The next morning at the usual 
time his mother knocked for him. She waited awhile 
but he did not make his appearance. She knocked 
again, but with no better success. She then called 
on Zabdiel to officiate. He declined, saying that 
it was John's turn. At length however John came 
down. Being asked to pray, he arose and simply 
repeated the Lord's prayer, and ever after he said 
this and nothing more. 

Mr. Adams was subject to occalsonal fits of 
depression or hypochondria as it is called. 

When he was afHIcted with one of these, a son 
m law who understood him well, called to see him. 
He asked how he did, ' Poorly, ' said Mr. Adams, 
'losing flesh and growing thin. I shall not stand it 
a great while longer.' * Seeins to me,' rejoined hi* 



REV. ZABDIEL ADAMS. 201 

son in law, ' you do look thin and poorly. I should 
not think you would stand It a great while.' Mr. 
Adams little expected this reply. It however had the 
effect intended. He walked to the glass, stroked 
his face with his hand, and said in a sharp and strong 
tone of voice, which indicated an unwillingness to 
have his account with this world settled hastilv, 'not 
so thin either — I shall stand it some time vet.' 



He attended a council convened to deliherate on 

the case of a Mr. Pennyman. Upon his return being 

asked by one of his people where he had been, he 

replied, ' To a council to consider the case of a 

Mr. Pennyman — a man rated a half-penny too 
high.' 

Mr. Adams' wife posessed a very retentive mem- 
ory5and could often refer to chapter and verse when 
he could not. On an occasion when she had fur- 
nished him with something he could not recollect, 
he remarked to those present with a smile, ' Mrs. 
Adams has profited much by my instruction; you 
see the fruits of it, my friends.' 

Being asked what he thought of a certain clergy- 
man, he replied, 'He is a fanciful man. If he would 
pluck out some of the wing feathers of his imagin- 
ation and put them in the tail of his judgment, he 
would do better.' In the discription of Lunenburg, 
which he wrote at the request of Dr. Morse for in- 
sertion in his Gazetteer, he observes, with his usual 
singularity, it is 'more remarkable for the health than 
the ictalth^ of its possessors.' 



202 MEMOIR OP 

The following saying of his deserves to be re- 
corded for its practical wisdona, and the sympathy- 
it indicates with the trials of humanity. — 'Mankind 
do not realize how hard it is for poor people to be 
honest.' 

Mr. Adams was a man who (as the reader might 
suppose from what has been said) thought for him- 
self on religious subjects, and in the expression of 
what he thought, was not influenced by the fear of 
others. For the day in which he lived he was re- 
markably liberal, m his religious sentiments. 

There is an observation which shews the state of 
his mind on one disputed topic. ' There are many 
passages in scripture which seem to imply the final 
restoration of all mankind, and far be it from me to 
say that it is not so.' 

Here is another, which, though not expressed in 
a very clerical manner, indicates his deep dislike of 
Calvinism. ' John Calvin has done more mischief 
than his plaguy neck is worth.' Indeed Mr. Ad- 
ams was one of the two clergymen in Worcester 
county who dared to assist at the ordination of Dr. 
Bancroft. His liberality however does not appear 
to have diminished his influence, which continued 
to be wide and powerful. I might proceed with an- 
ecdote upon anecdote of this singular man, but it is 
unnecessary, and the patience of the most patient 
reader might be wearied. The peculiar and pre- 
dominant qualities in the character of Mr. A. must 
already stand out in sufficient relief. His life, like 



REV. ZABDIEL ADAMS. 203 

that of most clergymen, was not marked by extra- 
ordinary events. He labored in the ministry at 
Lunenburg for 37 years. Being fond of study he is 
thought to have shortened his days by too assiduous 
devotion to his books. The death of his wife, 
w^hich occurred in August, 1800, was a deep afflic- 
tion to him, and he survived her loss not many 
months. Among his singularities, several weeks 
before his death he uttered this singular prediction 
in the hearing of his son, who is now living : ' We 
(speaking of John Adams and himself) shall die about 
the same time. He, a political ; I, a natural death.' 
The prediction was actually fulfiilled. The term of 
the President expired the 3d of March, 1801, and 
Mr.A.ot L. died the 1st. The scene of his labors was 
the place of his rest. The monument to his memory 
in the grave-yard of L. bears the following inscription: 

"This monument is erected by the town, as a tribute of af- 
fectionate respect to the memory of their deceased Pastor, the 
REV. ZABDIEL ADAMS, 

who died universally esteemed and respected, March 1, 1801 , 
in the 62 year of his age and 37th of his n)inistry. 

An active and capacious mind, nurtured by a publick educa- 
tion, rendered him an acceptable, instructive, and useful min- 
ister. The asperities of his constitution were softened by the 
refining influence of Religion. With a heart and understand- 
ing ibrnied for social life, he seldom failed to interest and im- 
prove all who enjoyed his communication. 

In his ministerial performances a ready utterance, command- 
ing elo(iucnce, and elevated sentiments, made him engaging 
and profitable. 

A catholic belief of the gospel, a respect and love of the 
Saviour, and a confidence in the faithfulness of CJod disarmed 
death of its terrors and inspired a final and certain hope of 
resurrection. 

He was a bright and shining light and we rejoiced for a sea- 
son in his light." 



204 MEMOIR OF 

Many of Mr. Adams' sermons were printed. I 
have a number of them before me. Among them is 
one deHvered at Lexington in 1783 on the aniv^ersa- 
ry of the 19th of April, and an election sermon de- 
livered in 1782 when John Hancock was Governor. 
With this his Excellency was so much pleased that he 
presented Mr. Adams with an elegant black suit. 

He gave the Dudleian lecture on Presbyterian 
Ordination in 1794. This performance was highly 
commended by the President of the University, but 
it did not appear in print. His sermons were well 
suited to the times in which he lived, but are not 
calculated to excite much interest at the present day. 

Mr. Adams received a settlement of £ 200 with 
a piece of ministerial land (which furnished him with 
wood) and a salary of only £ 80 a year. With litde 
beside he brought up a family of ten children, gave 
two of them a college education, and though his 
house was ever open, left an estate valued at 6000 
dollars. Such was the economy of olden time. 

The personal appearance of Mr. A. was impos- 
ing. His frame was large and noble. According to 
the fashion of his day, he was equipped with a white 
bush wig of no small dimensions and a three cor- 
nered cocked up hat. He moreover wielded a 
stout walking cane. No wonder it was said of him 
that ' he carried a great presence.'- 1 should feel that 
I had left this memoir in a half finished state 
and had done injustice to the memory of Mr. Adams, 
if I did not present the reader with the character 



REV. ZABDIEL ADAMS. 205 

of lilm as drawn by those who knc.v him more or 
less intimately. 

In a notice written about the time of his death, 
but never printed, it is said, 

"Few clerical characters have obtained so much celebrity as 
Mr. Adams. Few indeed liave like pretensions to poptdarity, 
for it is verv nncommon to find united in tlie same person so 
much learning, literary taste, and giniips. In his intercourse 
with the world no man had cltMrer hands. Integrity, candour, 
and sincerity shone so conspicuous in every part of his l)eha- 
viour that even his enen)ies, (if he had any,) must allow he 
possessed them in an eminent degree. Free and hospitable in 
his disposition, he received and entertained his friends with 
cordial satisfaction, and iMet the fice of the stranger with gen- 
tle greetings. lie sustained a long and pranfid illness with 
perfect resignation. Tie waited the approach of that important 
liour, which was to decide his future hop(v-j,with noble constan- 
cy, and, at the age of (52, closed an useful and honorable life to 
join the biind of kindred spirits in the heivcM:y world." 

Dr. Thayer of fiancaster in a letter wriic^, after 
observing thai ii'? on'e od flie ministry towarck the lat- 
ter part of Mr. Adnins' life aiH hnd not an opportu- 
nity of an intimate intercourse witlihim, 

"My recollections of .Mr. Adams are highly respoctrii). I 
knew him to be one of t!ie most acceptable preachers in this 
quarter, and that there were peculiarities in his di>p>)sition and 
character which great'y interested all who hu! an aoquaintance 
with him." 

Dr. Bancroft of ^V^orcestor in a letter writes, 

""Vfr. .\datn-5 was distinauish'^d among the coiiL'regational 
ministers of his day. fTis mind was cultivated, and his corn- 
positions for the period polished. lie embraced, generally 
speaking, Arminian views respecting Christian doctrine. He 
was liberal in his chii.stian — ready and communicative in his 

18 



206 MEMOIR or 

social intercourse." In his pulpit performances " often he waa 
bold, lofty, and impressive, sometimes weak and nninteresting. 
In delivery he differed as much as in his composition. Both 
depended on the state of his feelings. In manners he was un- 
reserved — sometimes rough. — Mr. Adams warmly espoused 
the prerogatives of the Pastoral office. He was conversant 
with the general affairs of the Church, and often appeared be- 
\(bre Ecclesiastical Councils as an advocate for a party in the 
controversy. 

Mr. Adams was a faithful Parish Minister. His pastoral in- 
fluence was great, and exercised for the good of the people of 
his charge. At his death he left his society in a state of peace, 
union, and strength. They subsequently fell into division and 
disorder." 

The funeral discourse of Mr. Whitney of Shir- 
ley, who liv^ed on terms of intimacy with Mr. Ad- 
ams for more than forty years, contains the following, 

"The God of nature furnished him with strong and vigorous 
powers of mind, which were enlarged by a public education 
and strengthened by application and study, which soon quali 
fied him to make a conspicuous figure as a minister of the Gos- 
pel. He was distinguished as a scholar at college; and retain- 
ed his classical learning in a good degree to the hitter part of 
his life. He had a taste for the arts and sciences in general, 
and in the most of them made very laudable proficiency.. 'He 
was a man of knowledge, and understanding was found in him.' 
* s * Hig religion was substantial, not tainted with super- 
stition, nor clouded with enthusiasm, which he always detested; 
believing where enthusiasm prevailed, the substance and life 
of religion would soon be lost. * * * Yot several years 
before his death, he had a prevailing apprehension that his 
departure was at hand, and he frequently mentioned it to his 
friends, with calmness and composure of mind, alledging that 
he was worn out in the hard service of the ministry; and some- 
itmes would add '[ have fought a good fight, I have finished 
my course. I have kept the faith." 



REV. 2ABDIEL ADAMS. 207 

The foliouing Is from the pen of President Allen, 
the author of the American Biographical Dictiona- 
ry. Whether he personally knew Mr. A. or not, I 
am unable to say: 

"Mr. Adams was eminent as a preacher of the Gospel, often 
exphiining the most important doctrines in a rational and 
scriptural manner, and enforcing tlicm with plainness and pun- 
gency. His language was nervous; and while in his public 
performances he gave instruction, he also imparted pleasure. 
In his addresses to the throne of grace, he was remarkable for 
pertinency of thought and readiness of utterance. Though by 
bodily con.slitution he was liable to irritation, yet he treasured 
uo ill-will in his bosom. His heart was easily touched by the 
afllictions of others, and his sympathy and benevolence prompt- 
ed him to administer relief when in his power." 

Such are the life and character of the Rev. Mr. 
Adams of LunenLurg. Truly he may be numbered 
among those ' honored in their generations and the 
glory of their times." 



ERRATA. 

Page 5, 10th line from bottom, for * Nothwester,' read •North- 
easter.' 
" 7, 7th 1. from t. for ' the,* read ' an.' 

" 12, 12th 1. from t after ' concpntrates,' insert* the.' 

" 20, 2d 1- from b. for ' Collection,' read ' Collections.' 

" 21, for ' Letter IT,' read ' Letter IV.' 

" 84, 15th I. f orn b. for 'in ' read ' on.' 

" 8S, 9th 1. from t. for ' Geological' rend ' Zoological' 

*' 89. 2d, I. from b. for '- fail-vva^ ' read ' rail- way ' 

" 100, last line, erase ' then,' 

*' 102, 4th 1. from b. erase parenth. before ' the.' 

*' 105, 1st 1, for ' app'irtenances,' rend ' appurtenances.' 

*' 117, Istl. for ' jolity ' read ' jollity.' 

*« 118, last 1. erase' and.' 

" IIP, 6th I. from t. for ' also,' read ' and.' 

" 120, 6th 1. from t. for ' seeds ' read ' deed.' 

" 128, 7th 1. from t. to ' be ' affix' lieve.' 

" 132, 11th 1. for ' contemolate,' read ' comtemplate.' 

" 136, 20th 1. from t. insert an ' ' ' after ' Israel.' 

" 139, 4th 1. from t. for ' their; read ' the.' 

" 140, loth 1. from t. erase' the pay.' 

" 141 , 7th 1. from t. erase first ' them.' 

" 142, 15th 1. from t. insert'.' after 'strangers.' 

" 151, 7th 1. from b. before' after' insert ' that.' 

" 153, 4th 1. after 'be' insert 'to me.' 
*' " 5th 1. for ' 'an — oases.' read ' an oasis.' 

" 154, llih 1. for 'height,' read 'descent.' 

*' 157 1st 1. for 'thoroughly ' read 'in one sense.' 

*' 162, 1st 1. for 'and ' read 'we' 
*' *' Sth 1. from b. erase 'to be.' 



90^ 



